


The Black-Prince Rises

by Logos_Faber



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, F/M, I can't give away all the relationships without ruining the plot sorry., M/M, Multi, Other, Severitus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-05-12 07:12:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 64,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5657350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Logos_Faber/pseuds/Logos_Faber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus: A sleeping dragon must never be tickled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

This is a non-profit work of fiction for the amusement of other fans.

No infringement is intended.

 

o0o

Unlike the useless, lay about Mrs. Coco Fudge, Ms. Dolores Jane Umbridge Special-Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic was an immense help to the Minister Cornelius Fudge. Dolores was dedicated to enabling the British Minister of Magic's efforts to _Make Magical Britain Magical_ (the new civic pride campaign slogan).

Ms. Umbridge kept the Minister’s social calendar, organized his files, filled out his forms, wrote his speeches, screened his fire calls, hired the staff, appointed appropriate friends, remembered the names he forgot, and most importantly handled the arrangements for all his meetings.

Modern sensibilities dismissed the art of entertaining, but Ms. Umbridge knew from personal experience that the right ambiance, and the right mix of people had an incredibly persuasive effect on even the most suspicious minds and intractable personalities. After all what a person believed depended a great deal on where they heard it, who told them, and when.

If someone wearing a tinfoil hat shouted _**the world is flat!** _ at crowds walking down a city street - no one would believe them. However if a _popular celebrity_ said the same thing while appearing on a _popular media_ outlet - chances were very good otherwise reasonably intelligent people would believe the rubbish was an established fact.

The East Meeting room with its wainscoting, plush carpeting, and long oval table of polished cherry wood was the perfect place for the Select Committee to meet; after Ms. Umbridge had half the chairs at the table removed. She did not want the committee members close enough to each other to whisper or pass notes discretely.

Ms. Umbridge intended for them to absorb the presented information in its totality before they formulated any opinions.

Ms. Umbridge had Minister Fudge’s throne like Meeting Chair, and her own shorter desk chair installed side by side at the head of the table. The size difference was important. Most of the Select Committee was male, and males generally respected a tall, broad leader more than a small, slim one.

Humming a jaunty tone, Dolores placed a name card, a handwritten meeting agenda, and a self-inking quill in front of each seat. People like potions ingredients reacted differently in different combinations. The effect she wanted could not be achieved if the Select Committee members sat wherever they pleased. 

In the center of the table Ms. Umbridge placed a floral arrangement potted in a polished silver vase faintly inscribed with runes that looked like decorative filigree. The bouquet center piece was so wide and so tall that it was almost impossible to look directly across the table; they would only be able to look at their side neighbors.

The white begonias were for truth, and deep thought, the lavender for distrust, and the sprigs from a Rhododendron were for caution. She gently tapped the vase with her wand. It made a hollow tone like a small dinner gong, then the scent of the flowers inside the shiny metal flower pot intensified.

Ms. Umbridge opened the curtains of the window behind the Minister's Meeting chair to make sure the flowers were in full sun light then left the room with her assistant Owen Hearst posted outside the door to make sure nothing was disturbed in her absence.

Not all powerful magic involved easily detected flashy wand waving.  A lot of very powerful magic was subtle; like the art of potions making. Requiring only patience, key ingredients, and a exacting attention to the details.

Ms. Umbridge made her way up to the Minister of Magic’s Office and met Cornelius Fudge as he spun out of the fireplace with a clothing brush to dust off the soot. Once Fudge was tidy and seated at his desk Dolores served him a strong cup of tea, and hot buttered scone while telling Fudge what to say to the Select Committee.

When Minister Fudge had finished his second breakfast ( To keep him chubby. Polling showed fat politicians were perceived as trustworthy.) Ms. Umbridge made sure he had a bathroom break and exchanged a friendly ‘good morning’ with ten menials (to maintain his reputation as a _people person_ ) before escorting Fudge to the East Meeting room.

On Ms. Umbridge’s order Mr. Hearst kept the doors of the East Meeting room locked until all of the Select Committee members were assembled. This was the only way Ms. Umbridge had found to keep Headmaster Albus Dumbledore from making his usual 5 minute late, disruptive, attention grabbing entrance.

The Minister of Magic was calmly seated at the head of long oval table like a king upon his throne with Dolores Umbridge seated at his right hand. Her hands clasped demurely on top of the table, a welcoming smile on her face.The morning light streamed in behind surrounded them in a warm golden halo.

Everyone had to squint to look directly at Ms. Umbridge and the Minister. She imagined they must look almost regal.

Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement took the seat to Minister Fudge’s left. She was the direct supervisor of the Auror Division, Department of Mysteries Unspeakables, and the host of other law enforcement agencies tasked with keeping the magical commonwealth from devolving into chaos.

Kurtis Mulciber sat beside Ms. Bones. The head of the Goblin Liaison Office was the youngest person in the room He was appointed to his position at the height of the Dark Lord's power the night his predecessor was murdered by Deatheaters because no one else wanted the job for fear they would be next.

Gringotts Wizarding Bank had physically custody of the Ministry of Magic's gold reserves. The goblins distributed payments, and collected revenue as the Goblin Liaison directed. Mr. Mulciber was the de facto Chancellor of the Exchequer. He made sure the Ministry of Magic's accounts balanced, and prosecuting tax evasion.

In Ms. Umbridge’s mind, Kurtis Kane Mulciber was the most important person in the room.

Ms. Umbridge had placed Rufus Scrimgeour at her right where she could keep an eye on him from the corner of her eye, but Rufus could not easily see Minister Fudge. In Dolores' opinion Scrimgeour needed watching. The man was dangerous. He had _ambitions_.

The former head Auror _said_ he took over the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures  because he was fed up with the way the former department head had insisted on ‘human rights’ for werewolves, centaurs, vampires, meri-folk, dwarves and the other near-human creatures under her purview.

The truth was Scrimgeour was quietly demoted after the last head of DRCMC, Alanis Burbank went missing.  Scrimgeour was ordered to assign a twenty four hour security detail to Alanis because she had received credible death threats in the mail.

Scrimgeour chose to give her eight hours of nightly protection and one morning Alanis did not come to work. Everyone assumed Alanis was eaten by a werewolf because a bit of her flesh was the only piece of her found after days of searching her bloody, ransacked home.

Thankfully Alanis did not have any family or friends to bring attention to her disappearance. Alanis Burbank lived for her work: advocating for the rights the United Kingdom's near human citizens. Her co-workers were either indifferent or secretly pleased she had vanished. It was far easier to _cage_ creatures than _address_ their needs.

Beside Rufus Scrimgeour was Bartemius Crouch, current Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Former Head of DMLE. Although a significant portion of Magical Britain’s revenue came from trade, Mr. Crouch considered his lateral move from DMLE to DIMC a demotion.

At the far end of the table, separated from everyone else by an empty seat on either side, was Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Head of the Department of Magical Education and Child Welfare, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Chairmen of the International Confederation of Wizards and one of the most nosey parkers every born on Earth.

The empty seat to Dumbledore’s right was reserved for Lucius Malfoy, Head of the Department of Magical Transportation. Malfoy’s position was a title with very little responsibility. The DMT ran itself. It was staffed by life long civil servants who worked with the mindless efficiency of automatons. When the parents retired their children replaced them like house-elves. It was the second most efficient department in the Ministry.

The chair on his left was for Ludovic Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. The DMGS was where careers went to die. It was a cesspool of slackers and nitwits that could not be outright fired. Sport club owners were mostly rich bullies. When they appeared at the DMGS they dictated the policies they wanted to see made law and pitched fits when their demands were not immediately met.

Ludovic Bagman was equally susceptible to bribery and browbeating, and thus totally ineffectual at his job. His only redeeming quality was he was affable and universally beloved because he was the keeper of the last British team to win the Quidditch World Cup.

Lucius and Ludovic were rarely seen inside the Ministry of Magic’s offices beneath Whitehall.

To compensate for his diminished duties, Mr. Crouch had taken over as much of the day to day operation of the DMGS as he could without taking the title of department head. Thus Mr. Bagman was free to roam the world promoting British sports by drinking, partying and gambling with corporate sponsors. The arrangement suited everyone - except the slackers and nitwits Crouch regularly tried his damnedest to fire or make quit.

With Dumbledore’s piercing twinkling gaze at the far end of the table blocked from sight by the lovely fragrant bouquet, Minister Fudge was quite at his ease. He welcomed the present members of the Select Committee, regretted Lucius and Ludovic's the absences, and started the meeting in good form.

“First order of business is a rather pressing matter of finances,” the Minister glanced at Ms. Umbridge who nodded in agreement. “Mr. Mulciber if you would please give your report to the committee?”

Mr. Mulciber stood and cleared his throat.

“When I was confirmed as the new Goblin Liaison a year ago after serving as the acting department head for some years; I warned this committee that I was deeply troubled by my cursory examination of the Official Accounts."

"You said the Ministry needed an official internal review," Crouch spoke up. He had a frighteningly good memory for details. "You said the Ministry's ledger books did not seem to match the goblin's records."

"Yes. Sunday, my staff and I completed an exhaustive audit of all the Ministry's financial records and a physical count of the Ministry's vaults...I regret to inform you, fellow members of the select committee, that if the Ministry continues spending at current levels then the government will be bankrupt in 38 months and five days.”

Mr. Crouch, and Mr. Scrimgeour both jumped to their feet with exclamations of “OUTRAGEOUS!” and “THE HELL YOU SAY!”

Headmaster Dumbledore asked, “Are you _quite_ sure?”

Mrs. Bones who was often silent, raised both eyebrows in surprise.

Minister Fudge – who Ms. Umbridge had already informed of the shortfall, and how best to react to it – frowned gravely.

He leaned forward with his both elbows on the table. “Gentlemen please! We are all alarmed – hysterics will not solve the problem. Do sit DOWN and compose yourselves!” Minister Fudge waved the angry men back to their seats, then gestured for the accountant to go on with his report. “Mr. Mulciber, please continue.”

“Gold does not grow on trees. The income of the Ministry comes from issuing licenses, permits, fines, fees, income taxes, real estate taxes, export and imports duties-“

“We know all that! Get on with it!” Scrimgeour said impatiently.

“The decline in revenue began with the rise of He Who Must Not Be Named. Three tax prosecutors, and our department head were murdered by Death Eaters. Half the department personnel quit as a result. Citizens quickly caught on to the lack of oversight and started paying however little tax they pleased. Some people have not paid their taxes in _years_.”

“No respect for the rule of LAW," Crouch snapped hotly. "A twist in Azkaban would set them straight!”

“After the disappearance of the Dark Lord and the subsequent mass incarceration of suspected Death Eaters without trial– “

“Would you have murdering Death Eater scum roam the streets?” demanded Crouch furiously.

Mulciber raised his voice and pressed on undaunted, “Droves of England’s wealthiest families – who by the by pay most of the taxes in this country and do most of the investing to start businesses – have taken their gold, their children and in some cases their whole estates with them abroad. As a direct result our finances are now in dire straits. I'm sure Headmaster Dumbledore as also notice a decline in the student population of Slytherin and Ravenclaw.”

"We have adapted to the change by stepping up our efforts to recruit the children of ex-patriots living overseas and increased our enrollment of muggle-borns who otherwise would not have had the opportunity to attend Hogwarts," Dumbledore explained.

“I say good riddance to bad rubbish!” Mr. Scrimgeour declared. “As soon as the in-bred blood-bigots started buggering off we finally achieved peace in magical Britain. _That's_ no coincidence.”

“Since there has been such a drastic reduction in crime you will not object to a 75% budget reduction to make up for our appalling shortfall.”

“How the devil to you expect us to maintain order with cuts like that?” Crouch sputtered indignantly.

“According to you and Mr. Scrimgeour, the peace is maintaining itself.” Mr. Mulciber looked at all the faces in the room. “A 75% reduction is the only way to keep the books balanced at the current income levels. Hogwarts will face the most sever budget cuts, I’m afraid, they will get nothing from the Ministry for the foreseeable future.”

Ms. Bones frowned. “Doesn’t Hogwarts have an endowment administered by the Headmaster and Board of Governors that covers its expenses?”

“The operating budget that pays for staff salaries, supplies, and upkeep of the buildings comes from fundraisers, tuition and direct donations to Hogwarts from the Board of Governors,” Dumbledore answered. “We only dip into the endowment for major improvements like our new, rather fetching Quidditch pitch.”

“Every year since Hogwarts opened the Ministry has matched the funds Hogwarts raises with an annual a grant. It covers the cost of educating the very poor and muggle-born students,” Fudge explained.

“Muggles don’t use gold for money, you know,” Ms. Umbridge added. “Without the Ministry’s generosity the poor things could not afford to attend Hogwarts at all.”

“Due to current financial constraints, we can no longer afford to contribute to Hogwarts,” Mr. Mulciber stated firmly.

“That is troubling news,” Ms. Umbridge simpered sympathetically.

The budget problems set the stage for a no-fault purge that would strip the halls of government of all the undesirables. The Ministry would transform from a bloated bureaucracy to an efficient administrator of magical Britain's affairs by filling the limited vacancies with loyal, competent, efficient, hard workers.

As Head of Department of Administrative Registration, Dolores controlled the Central Department and Human Resources among other interesting things.

As an added bonus, with Hogwarts out of the Ministry’s gold pocket the Hogwarts Board of Governors would have the leverage too finally rein in the meddling of the Albus busy body Dumbledore once and for all.

“With your wise leadership Headmaster Dumbledore, and the School Governors support, I’m sure Hogwarts will remain a beacon of academic excellence,” Fudge declared. Ms. Umbridge was proud of him for making her words coming out of his mouth sound sincere and spontaneous.

London theaters missed a gifted actor when Cornelius Fudge gave up the stage for a life of public service.

“The only responsible response to these lean times is austerity,” Ms. Umbridge stated frankly. “We must all do our part.”

“I expect each of you to review your budget from last year and find _appropriate_ ways to reduce spending. By the end of this quarter I expect revised department budget projections on my desk that will bring _all_ departments into financial compliance. All none essential staff are to be stripped from the payroll. Effective _immediately_.”

“Is there no other way?” Ms. Bones pleaded. “My people have sacrificed so much for public safety. They have _families_ to support!”

“If you can finagle a way to increase and sustain revenue by 75% in the next twelve months I will happily retract my recommendation and issue Christmas bonuses,” Mr. Mulciber replied sincerely. "I had a staff of twenty eight this morning. I have a staff of seven now. Believe me, I do not want to do this."

“Would it be possible for a third party to review the Official Accounts?” Dumbledore asked.

“You want to double check my work Headmaster?” Mr. Mulciber sneered angrily. “If my predecessor – your dear personal friend - never bothered to inform anyone of the dire situation, of course I must be wrong!”

“Kurtis, perhaps with more eyes on the problem we might see a less drastic solution –“

“Let me assure you _sir,_ if Death Eaters had not killed Mr. Vainel Spink, he’d have gone to Azkaban for _fraud_ ,” Mulciber hissed. “So by all means Headmaster Dumbledore get anyone you like to look over the ledgers. They are public record.”

Dolores smiled. Dumbledore had tripped himself. Kurtis Mulciber was unnaturally honest for a Slytherin. Everyone knew that. Now that Dumbledore had offended his professional pride, Mulciber would see the law ruthlessly enforced to within an inch of legal cruelty.

“Since you are so keen to check my work, let’s see if your own glass castle can stand up to stones...While reviewing Hogwarts' general account I noted some glaring irregularities. Are you aware Headmaster, that the history of magic teacher, Professor Binns, is _dead_?”

“I do not hold that against him. He has not missed a day of work in ages.”

The other Select Committee members at the table tittered with quiet nervous laughter.

“Did you know that Binns’ ghost is paid a _regular salary_ in _flagrant_ violation of standard accounting practices, legal regulations, _and_ Hogwarts' charter?”

“An easily corrected oversight, “Dumbledore began.

“Hogwarts also pays the _squib_ Argus Filch at a _fully qualified wizard’s rate_ , and a Mrs. Norris for night-watch duties… _Mrs. Norris is a cat!_ ” Mulciber continued nastily. “All Hogwarts staff are paid a _generous_ housing allowance… _they live on site!_ ”

“That was to compensate them for remaining on campus during the summer and during breaks when it was not safe for all our students to return home.”

“The Dark Lord has not been seen in _years_. Why are you still paying the stipend?”

Fudge, Crouch, Scaremonger, and Bones all looked at Dumbledore in disbelief.

Ms. Umbridge wanted to roll her eyes. How did these silly people think Dumbledore paid for his private army, the Order of the Phoenix? Headmaster Dumbledore was not the head of the Dumbledore House with keys to the family vaults.

“That sounds most _irregular_ indeed.” Crouch looked at Dumbledore with suspicion.

“There had _better_ be a reasonable explanation,” Scaremonger growled angrily.

Ms. Umbridge gently nudged Fudge with her elbow before Dumbledore could open his mouth, ”In the spirit of cooperation, the Ministry is happy to loan Hogwarts our Mr. Mulciber for a few weeks to make sure everything is above board at Hogwarts.”

“You are very generous Minister Fudge, but that won’t be necessary,” Dumbledore assured them.

Ms. Umbridge was pleased to note the Headmaster not at all persuasive without a clear line of site. Minister Fudge did not melt timidly as he usually did when Headmaster Dumbledore spoke to him.

“The Board of Governors and I are _fully_ capable –“

“I have quite a lot to do in my own department just now,” Mulciber put in irritably, "With my reduced staff I must -"

“Kurtis, I appreciate all your hard work. We could not hope for a better man to bring our books up to snuff.” Fudge cut in with firm authority. “If it had not been for your tireless efforts when the Death Eaters burned up poor Mr. Spink and his house we might have lost the whole real estate tax record."

“Merlin only knows _what_ he was doing with the official ledgers in his house,” Scrimgeour complained.

“Spink _knew_ those books were never to leave the premises!” Crouch agreed peevishly. “That has _always_ been the official policy!”

“We have every confidence, that if anyone can straighten out the confusion up in Scotland it is you Kurtis,” Dolores praised generously. “There is no one at the Ministry more financially astute than you. We have every confidence you will put everything in order.”

Mulciber – often the unwelcome bearer of bad news - could be excused for preening a little at the double heaping of complements. He was an unappreciated junior staff member until Spink's death; the next youngest department head, Amelia Bones, was old enough to be his mother.

"Very well. I shall go to Hogwarts early tomorrow morning. I expect all necessary records and supporting documents available for inspection and accommodations for three persons, one of whom is female. We need to be away from interference or disturbance. A room with good light, at a comfortable temperature and properly ventilated.”

“That can be arranged,” Dumbledore assured Mulciber.

Dolores could not see his face, but she felt certain Dumbledore was attempting to be charming. Mulciber scowled at Headmaster Dumbledore before sitting down.

“Now that the unpleasantness is out of the way, let’s discuss the upcoming Stonehenge Festival.” Minister Fudge rubbed his hands together gleefully. He enjoyed carnivals, pageantry, and watching sports with the enthusiasm of a child at the circus for the first time.

In that regard there were few things better than the Annual Stonehenge Festival. The three night dueling competition was the United Kingdom’s National Dueling Championship. It attracted famous professional duelist, amateur fighters, and their fans from all over the globe to compete for the coveted Merlin Ring.

Dueling and Hippogriff racing were like fencing or polo in the muggle-world: pastimes only a select few could comfortably afford to enjoy. The crowds that attended the Stonehenge Festive was a tenth of the size of the hordes who amassed for the Quidditch World Cup. However the wealthy dueling enthusiast spent seven times as much gold as Quidditch lovers.

“Thanks to the Stonehenge Foundation’s generosity, everyone on the Special Select Committee gets a complimentary ticket for themselves plus one guest,” Ms. Umbridge announced. “Please come to my office on Wednesday after three to collect your tickets from Mr. Hearst.”

“You don’t have to sit with me in the Official Ministry Pavilion,” Fudge promised. “But please stop by. I’d like for you all to meet my wife Coco. Oh and remember this is considered an Official Ministry event so please remember to wear your work robes. And no drinking! Or lewd behavior -"

"Basically don’t do anything that will embarrass the government in the paper,” Mr. Scrimgeour summarized dryly. 

“It’s going to be a year for the record books,” Mr. Crouch declared standing up. “We have confirmed 124 competitors between the amateur and professional divisions. If all the duelist who registered compete this is going to be the biggest Grand Melee in history.”

“My office has negotiated a 20% cut from all the official betting houses,” Mr. Mulciber declared with a proud satisfaction.

“With the legislation passed last week any unofficial bets will be subject to a 125% fine – that should help our short fall considerably,” Dolores added. “And go a long way to curbing moral decline.”

“Those fines will be split between Stonehenge Festival Foundation and the Aurors to cover the cost of security. We need vigorous enforcement of the law.”

Fudge leaned over to see around Mulciber and give Bones a significant look to emphasis the point.

“Considering our circumstances we cannot afford to let anyone off with a warning,” Bones agreed nodding reluctantly.

Off book betting was generally overlooked, but it was one of many Evils Ms. Umbridge meant to have rooted out of England. The profits went straight to the pockets of undesirable factions like goblins, dwarfs, and selfish criminals. The debts encouraged desperate people to commit desperate acts of crime.

Licensed gambling houses could not take bets in excess of the gold their customers had in hand. Unofficial bookies would bet anything: a pound of flesh, a firstborn child, an immortal soul or years of indentured service. Voldemort was famous, but he was _hardly_ the only Dark Lord corrupting England.

Ms. Umbridge personally blamed Albus Dumbledore.

Hogwarts could to a lot to filter the filth out of society but the headmaster wasted precious time obstructing the Wizengamot (who had yet to deal with the all the Death Eaters) and dithering with the useless blow-bags at the International Confederation of Wizards (who had done nothing to stop Voldemort or Grindelwald from rising in power).

“Requests for temporary apparition licenses and tourist visas have hit record numbers as well,” Ms. Umbridge added reading from Lucius Malfoy's report, no doubt written by one of his Department of Magical Transportation minions.

“I strongly recommend handing out a pamphlet with the most important laws our visitors should be aware of at the international entry points. Particularly since we are expecting so many Americans,” Ms. Bones added.

“Why?” Mulciber asked curiously. “They speak English. I should think Americans would be the _least_ of out worries.”

“American muggles have an extraordinary number of guns so the Magical Congress of North America legalized Imperio _and_ Avada Kedavra for self-defense,” Ms. Bones informed them all grimly. “They expect children to master Imperio by age 16. The killing curse by 21. The new law went to effect last month.”

“Is that true Dumbledore?” Fudge demanded. “Why would the International Confederation of Wizards allow such reckless _madness_?”

“The Magical Congress of North America is a sovereign nation. The ICW does not dictate domestic policy to any member state,” Crouch told them.

Crouch knew about the American laws because he took his position seriously. He even sent out a memo no one on the Special Select Committee but Amelia Bones and Dolores Umbridge bothered to read. Not that Crouch personally cared what the Americans did, so long as they did not affect England in any way.

“Remember we do not allow blood magic of any kind here, while blood adoption is legal in certain parts of the world,” Dumbledore reminded him with the air of a patient teacher.

“The Indo-Chin Empire still has slaves,” Crouch added morosely.

“What’ll we do if a slave runs away while their master is here? Return the human goods or hide the poor wretch?” Mulciber asked.

“The DMLE will make every effort to recover the missing property,” Mrs. Bones replied in an official sounding voice, “However based on past experience, it is doubtful we will be able to find a runaway slave in a country as large as England.”

“I’m sure you’ll try your very best,” Ms. Umbridge agreed smiling.

“Our very best ma’am.”

“On the pamphlets make sure our policy on the unforgivable curses is printed in bold flashing red letters,” Fudge ordered emphatically. “Make it part of the immigration entry speech. Put up posters at the entry points and every hotel. I do not want any incidents on British soil to spoil our international reputation.”

“Of course Minister,” Mr. Crouch agreed readily. He sat down.

“Now that’s settled let's address the last two items on our agenda this morning: the business of the overflowing warehouse of confiscated artifacts and the alleged Death Eaters in Azkaban.”

Mrs. Bones stood up. “Minister, 90% of the cursed items have already been rendered harmless or destroyed by the Unspeakables. With regard to the prisoners,” she shrugged. “Given the violent nature of the crimes they are accused of they cannot be released on bail pending trial.”

“We need money,” Mulciber said bluntly. “I recommend we hold an auction of the processed formally cursed items with any antique or collectible value to coincide with the influx of jet set shoppers coming to town for the Stonehenge Festival.”

“Excellent idea Mulciber!” Fudge declared enthusiastically. “Mr. Crouch please coordinate with Mrs. Bones to add an auction catalog to the promotional material for the Stonehenge Festival.”

“Yes Minister.”

“As for the prisoners of Azkaban, it is high time they ALL had day in court,” Fudge declared. ”Their victims need justice, _and_ maybe some of the people who have fled England because they are scared of false accusations will come home when they see innocent people set free. See to it Headmaster Dumbledore.”

“Minister Fudge, it is difficult to attain quorum at Wizengamot's three annual meetings. Attempting to conduct a marathon of consecutive court cases would be a near impossible, time consuming, exhausting miscarriage of justice. There simply would not be enough time to give each individual case the attention it deserves.”

“145 men and women were sent to Azkaban accused of being Death Eaters, at a cost of 10 galleons a day each. They have served an average of 565 days. That is _819,250 galleons_ on _Death Eaters_ ,” Mr. Mulciber snapped angrily. “There are another 63 other prisoners without a judgment in prison for other offenses.”

“It is _outrageous_ to spend almost a million galleons on criminals because the Wizengamot finds their duty to TIME CONSUMING to get on with,” Crouch shouted in outrage.

“Particularly galling when our hard working Aurors are facing _termination_ because of budget short falls,” Ms. Bones added bitterly. "But I suppose that doesn't matter so long as there is money to pay the Hogwarts teacher's _housing allowance_."

“- and if they don’t want to sit on juries they should get off the _bench_!” Crouch's trim mustache bristling with his anger. "The whole apparatus of justice and government is to _give way_ to the Wizengamot convenience? I've never heard anything so blasted _outrageous_!"

“Give them all the kiss and be done with it!” Scrimgeour advised. "We know they're all guilty. Else they would not be locked up to begin with."

"We can not dispense with legal procedures when it suits us!" Mulciber protested. "This country is _ruled_ by laws! Not accusations! Not suspicions! Not fear or rumors or which ever way the wind blows on Wednesday! _LAWS!_ Laws we have all sworn to uphold to the best of our abilities!"

“We have a fiduciary responsibility to the public we serve to be good stewards of our limited resources and champions of justice! If there are members of the Wizengamot who cannot toe that line I expect you DUMBLEDORE as Ministry appointed Chief Warlock to do something about it,” Fudge ordered pointing an authoritative finger.

Then before anyone could say a word to Minister Fudge’s bold pronouncement he sprang from his seat, stormed out the room, and slammed the door closed.

There was a long moment of shocked awkward silence before Mulciber got up, nodded to his colleagues then glared at Dumbledore.

“I’ll see you first thing, Headmaster. Ladies and gentlemen of the Select Committee. Good day to you all.” Mulciber picked up his agenda, quill and left.

Mr. Crouch stood up and headed to the door as well. He paused at the threshold and turned to Ms. Bones. “I’d like to pick your brain about some security details if you have a half hour to spare?”

“Of course,” Ms. Bones replied, she picked up her agenda and tucked it up her sleeve as she stood up. Crouch asked Scrimgeour, “You’ll join us won’t you Rufus?”

“Absolutely,” Mr. Scrimgeour replied standing up. He followed Crouch out the door.

Ms. Bones paused at the doorway and looked over at Ms. Umbridge. “That was the most productive meeting I have ever attended, thank you Dolores.”

Ms. Umbridge stood up and began gathering the detritus. The agendas Fudge, Crouch and Scrimgeour forgot – the blank sides could be used as scrap paper - the name place cards, a quill and the flower arrangement. The vase was a valuable heirloom, and the flowers were from her garden. After she had gathered everything up, Ms. Umbridge turned to go.

When Ms. Umbridge told Minister Fudge he would shout at Headmaster Dumbledore in front of the Select Committee he had only agreed if she promised to keep him from being alone with Albus Dumbledore ever again.

To make sure the Headmaster would not find him, Minister Fudge had not gone to his office after he left the East Meeting room. He went into the heavily warded panic room. He was not coming out until Ms. Umbridge gave him the all clear.

Unlike the the larger catastrophic room under the Department of Mysteries, that was built to withstand an apocalypse, panic room was only meant to be a temporary shelter in case of terrorist attack and did not have a bathroom.

Ms. Umbridge had to collect the Minister quickly. Fudge had the bladder control of a puppy when he was frightened or nervous.

Headmaster Dumbledore stood up just as Dolores was about to walk out of the East Meeting room.

“Ms. Umbridge?”

She turned, “Yes Mr. Dumbledore?”

“It is a curious thing.” He leaned forward and peering at her with twinkling eyes over the top of his half-moon spectacles.

“In my experience, those who are best suited to wield power do not strive to gather glory or authority to themselves. It is invariably those who have leadership thrust upon them, who take up the mantle of responsibility reluctantly, who most often find - to their own surprise - they bring unprecedented honor and distinction to the office they hold.”

“Indeed? I’m of the same opinion,” Ms. Umbridge agreed smiling widely. “Since we agree, I fully expect we will share a harmonious and productive working relationship.”

“I look forward to furthering our acquaintance, Ms. Umbridge,” Dumbledore bowed in a courtly manner.

Ms. Umbridge caught up and edge of her skirt with her free hand and bobbed a polite curtsy. Just as her mother had taught her decades ago.

“Mr. Dumbledore, I’m sure the pleasure will _ultimately_ be all mine,” she replied with a triumphant smirk, then swept out the door out the door.

Mr. Owen Hearst, who had waited for Ms. Umbridge outside the East Meeting Room door, fell in step behind her left shoulder when Dolores emerged.

“Shall I confirm Minister Fudge's usual table at the _Bewitched Sandwich_ or should I place a take out order for lunch Madam Umbridge?”

“The Minister will be retiring for the day," Dolores said over her shoulder. Her legs were short but her steps were fast. Mr. Hearst had to almost jog to keep pace with Ms. Umbridge. "He has had a _very_ trying morning and needs to recoup his strength for tomorrow.”

“Yes madam...Please recall you have a brunch engagement with Lady Prewett at Hexam Hall. You are expected at 9:00 am. The time is now 8:40.”

“Hmm. I still have plenty of time to dispatch Minister Fudge home to his loving wife before I see Lady Prewett.”

The double doors to the Minister of Magic’s Outer Office swung open as the pair approached. The Minister of Magic's office was the only Ministry of Magic office with a house-elf. Having a magical servant allowed Ms. Umbridge to run the Central Department  with only two human assistants. Which saved time, and money without sacrificing security or efficiency.

The outer office was long, and made of black stone with gold veins like the Ministry of Magic lobby. It was dimly lit by bronze pot lights in the four corners. Ms. Umbridge's second assistant Ossef Maloney sat at the high desk in front of the Minister of Magic's Inner Office doors. He loomed like a stern judge presiding over his court.

In front of Ossef's desk were two narrow stone blocks, running parallel down the middle of the room. The frigidity people packed tightly together, flattening their backsides waiting to be seen by the Central Department or the Minister of Magic, had nothing to lean comfortably back on and no choice but to stare across into each other shadowed faces.

Stewing uncomfortably in the Outer Office for a few hours tenderized most people's tempers into something emotionally raw Ms. Umbridge could easily manipulate once they were called into the Inner Office, where the decor was luxurious and impressive and comfortable...except for the 10,000 sharpened swords pointed bladed down from the ceiling.

Everyday, at least three people spontaneously declined to waste the Ministry of Magic's valuable time with their petty concerns after seeing the ceiling of swords suspended above their heads.

Ms. Umbridge considered the ceiling of swords another great time and money saving device.

She intended to install one in the Wizengamot Chamber at the earliest possible opportunity. 

As Ms. Umbridge walked into the Inner Office she handed Mr. Hearst the the silver vase, paper, and pens she was carrying.

“Discard the flowers into a mundane fire. Replace them with pink roses and put them on my desk.”

“Yes Madam.”

“Oh, and Mr. Hearst?”

Pip the house elf stood on a chair to drape Ms. Umbridge’s pink traveling cloak over her shoulders, straightened her little hat and help her slide white gloves up her arms before handing Ms. Umbridge her handbag and disappearing.

“Yes Madam?”

“Initiate step two of the Rot Fang protocol...after you and Ossef have had tea, of course.”

“Yes Madam. As you wish.”


	2. Chapter 2

 After his youngest son, Regulus left home Lord Orion Black no longer had a compelling reason to subject himself to the domestic tyranny of his wife Lady Walburga. Orion converted the astronomy observatory in the attic into a studio apartment and abandoned the lower levels of number 12 Grimmauld Place, the grand London townhouse of the most ancient and noble Black family to his disagreeable spouse.

The room at the top of Grimmauld Place contained a bath, kitchenette, and the few possessions Lord Orion required to live comfortably. Orion used the long chesterfield sofa with cracked leather and feather leaking pillows as a bed. Beside the sofa stood a brass telescope on a tripod, and a metal tea table. 

A floating slab of black volcanic glass acted as Orion's desk, and a floating tasseled pillow was his chair. The desk had a collection of photographs in silver frames on one side and neatly stacked paper work on the other. 

The stone walls were completely honeycombed with shallow octagonal nooks interrupted by the narrow fireplace and the doors to the bath, and the kitchenette.

The from the ceiling down to waist height the eight sided holes in the wall housed the tatty paperbacks, and flaking leather bound handwritten spell books unfit to be seen in the Family Library downstairs that Orion had picked up at auctions, estate sales and booksellers over the years.

The lower holes were stuffed with lopsided pottery, stuffed animals loved threadbare, broken toys,  stick swords, cardboard shields, stacks of crayon artwork, baby teeth in jars, bugs in amber, castles made of wooden blocks glued together, storybooks coming to pieces, capes made from old towels and cardboard tiaras.

Lord Orion gathered the forgotten childhood treasures of his two sons: Sirius, and Regulus and three nieces: Andromeda, Bellatrix, and Narcissa as their mothers threw them out over the years. Orion's horde of family memorabilia was tangible proof that the children he had helped raised had once been happy in his home.

The tall thin fireplace had a row of photographs on the mantle and painted portraits on the wall above. The top painting was of the family founders: great-great-grandfather Solanum Orion Nigrum (who anglicized his surname to Black when he immigrated to England from Spain) and his wife Eudora Addams.

The dour Solanum and Eudora sat together on a twisting serpentine couch made from a taxidermy basilisk with their children Sirius, Phineas, Elladora and Isla gathered around them.

Beneath Solanum and Eudora was their son Phineas and his wife Ursula Flint on their wedding day.

The couple stood cheek to cheek smiling and gore splattered. Their right hands both on the hilt of the bloody ceremonial sword they had used to behead the thirteen muggles at their feet. The muggles were sacrificed to bind the demon who dwelt in the basement of Grimmauld Place to the ward stone when the house was first built.

Beside Phineas and Ursula was their son: grandfather Sirius and his wife Hesper Gamp as young adults.

Hesper stood behind Sirius with her chin on his shoulder with both hands possessively on his baby swollen belly. Sirius was kissing his wife's cheek affectionately while Hesper stared malevolently at the viewer daring someone to challenge her. Their massive pet goddess cobra, Wadjet was wrapped around the couple like a living ribbon.

Below Phineas and Ursula was Lord Orion Black’s father and mother - Arcturus, and Melania Macmillan sitting side by side on the basilisk sofa holding toddler Sirius and baby Regulus on their laps while a young happy Orion and Walburga stood behind them. Everyone was smiling. Genuinely happy.

None of the painting or photographs in the room were animated. Lord Orion got enough of his family's disapprobation from his living relations without the portraits adding to the chorus of censure.

The house elf Kreacher appeared a quite pop with the third best silver breakfast tray in his hands. He levitated the breakfast dishes and silver tea set he carried on to the table by the fireplace, then transfigured the tray into a basket. With a slow blink he gathered up Lord Black’s cast off clothes and shoes from day before.

Kreacher had to snap his fingers twice to slide open the metal eyelid that covered the domed glass astronomy eye. The wards that kept it closed and intruders from breaking into the house through the roof were old, and very strong. It was opened slowly with a rusty groan.

The dirty dishes from the slab desk joined the dirty clothes in the basket as warm golden morning light slide up Orion Black's body sprawled on the plush leather sofa where he read his boys stories years ago. Orion grimaced.

Pulling a throw pillow over his head Orion kicked out as he flopped his body over – and would have knocked over the telescope his little boys used to look at their namesake stars if Kreacher had not blinked at it, before popping out of the room to answer his Lady Walburga's summons from below.

A moment later, Kreacher brought Orion's sister, Lady Lucretia Prewett nee Black to the private library with a quiet pop then disappeared. Lady Prewett took a moment to look at each of the framed pictures on the desk, and mantle. She picked up the ones she had never seen for closer examination before putting them back.

The snapshots in ornate silver frames that cluttered the desktop, and mantelpiece showed how much time had passed. The photos on the mantel showed Orion’s two boys first as fat toothless grinning babies. Then skinny shy boys. Finally Orion's youngest child Regulus in his school robes frowning and alone on the basilisk sofa.

But Regulus was no longer alone.

The round picture frame on the desk was Regulus' wedding day. The blood splattered couple stood atop the corpse of a mutilated mountain troll in a valley of wild flowers and butterflies with a crowd of cheering friends clapping in the distance.

Regulus had his arms about the waist of his new husband Severus. Regulus had lifted Severus off his feet to make them even in height. Severus had his long fingered hands buried in Regulus's hair. They were looking into each other's eyes adoringly, as if nothing else in the world mattered to either of them.

The square frame showed the couple on the floor of a small flat in front of a fake Christmas tree covered homemade paper ornaments, candy canes, popcorn and cranberry strings. Regulus was asleep on his back with his mouth open. His head was pillowed on Severus’ thigh. 

A toddler in a green sleep suit with messy black hair was climbing over Regulus' body with the gentle assistance of Severus pale long fingered hands. The baby was reaching out to grasp a green and silver candy cane on the Christmas tree. Severus's smile was small, but his face was full of love.

The triangle held a picture of Regulus crouched behind his son on a cloudless, moonless night. The child was looking through a telescope at their namesake stars while Regulus whispered in his ear.

The oval was Severus and his child riding a flying grey and black hippogriff. Their matching black riding leathers, capes, and helmets were monogrammed with the family crest in silver. Severus held his son securely in front of him with one arm, and the reigns of their mount in his other hand. 

Lady Prewett’s favorite picture of her godson son Sirius and his husband Severus standing side by side with their son Herodotus Lilian Orion Serpens Black-Prince sitting where their shoulders met waving at the camera with both hands and laughing while his two fathers looked up at him fondly.

Finished with the photos, Lady Prewett went to the sofa, where her brother's lay with his back to the room and a pillow over his head. She tugged the pillow off Orion’s head, and pulled him on to the floor with a thud. Lucretia knelt down to kiss Orion's forehead in apology but froze when she found Orion’s wand up, pointed at her throat.

Lucretia stepped back from her little brother smiling. She flicked her wand. The table with breakfast and tea laid out upon it slid closer. She took a seat at one end sofa and began helping herself to tea.

She fixed a cup of tea just as Orion liked it and set it on the side of the table closest to where her brother was on the floor. "What ever happened to good morning? So happy to see you? How have you been?"

“That’s how I greet anybody who attacks me!”

"I'd hardly call _that_ an attack. I did not draw _blood_ did I?"

"I'm so grateful, how ever should I thank you? Oh I know! I should stab you in the eye!"

Orion sat up. He rubbed his face with both hands then pushed himself up to his feet with an audible creaking of his bones and groan.

“Is that anyway to greet you favorite sister?”

“Since you’re my only sister, you’re favorite by default. No first place ribbon for that. Why are here bothering me at this unholy hour anyway? Don't you have a husband to harass?”

“It’s your own fault I’m trespassing in your man-cave. I’ve written you twice this week Rye. Why haven’t you written back? Or come to see me? Hexam Hall is not that far-I know you can apparate. I taught you myself."

"Unlike some people I could name, I've more to do than visit with friends and take tea ten times a day."

"Drink your tea before I drown you in it and then tell me shall it be you or me?”

“Wake me from a sound sleep to badger me about nonsense before I’ve had tea?”

Orion plopped on the sofa beside his elder sister. He took up his tea cup, and inhaled the aroma with deep appreciation before sipping.

“I’ve not the foggiest idea what you’re on about. Probably won’t care even after you explain.”

Lucretia slapped her brother’s left cheek smartly with her closed ivory fan making him spill his tea in his lap.

“Don’t get shirty with me Rye! Answer the question!” Lucretia snapped out of patience with her brother. "I've been waiting weeks for you to give me an answer! I've arrangements to make and no time for your usual silliness!"

“I don’t know what the question is you moody cow!” Orion sulked holding the red mark on his cheek with one hand and pointing his wand at his elder sister with the other. “You hit me again and I’ll hex that ugly hat right off your fat head,” he threatened.

“I’ll be seven days dead and you still won’t land a curse on me,” Lucretia scoffed. “Just tell me if Regulus is going to stay with you or me while he attends the Stonehenge Festival? I’m hosting all the cadet branches of House Prewett: the New York Pruitts, the Hong Kong Pryors, the Sao Paulo Praetors and some friends. I need to know how many more rooms Pigott should to air out.”

“I had a card from him for summer solstice. Reggie didn’t mention anything about coming home. Why am I always the last to know anything in this family,” Orion complained with hurt feelings. He cleaned himself up with a flick of his wand and Lucretia handed him another cup of tea made the way he liked it.

“Regulus sent me an owl last month saying he was coming and might stay with me if you wouldn’t have him. When was the last time you checked the post?”

“A month ago? I think? Why didn’t you talk to me sooner?”

“Wasn’t here. I told you Iggy had business in Indo-Chin and you know he won’t trust anybody but me to translate for him.”

“You couldn’t send an owl? Fire-call?”

“It would take an albatross to fly from Bombay to London. Why should I pay those rates when I can ask you in person? Besides every time I floo Walla answers then wails about her imagined troubles. She was in rare form today by the way. I wasn’t half listening, but I was impressed by the tears. Nice touch that.”

“Walburga visited Druella and Cygnus weeks ago. They had Narcissa and Draco over. You can well imagine how obnoxious Cygnus was: _Bellatrix_ went to prison for _blood-pride_ and _Narcissa_ is _breeding_ sons like a proper lady wife. We expect another grandchild _any day_! What have your boys been up to lately Walla dear?”

Lucretia snorted. “Walla should have reminded them Andromeda is happily married to that muggle-born doctor and bred a little muddy daughter with ten times the magic in her _toes_ than what Draco’s got in his whole body. First meta-morph-magus in the family since uncles Regulus and Pollux. Blood-pride is _bullocks._ ”

“Try telling Walla _that_. Always pure and all that rot. She’s been wailing like a ghoul for days. She curses the boys, curses the servants, curses the house, hexes me if she sees me. It is all _my fault_ of course. Everything is always my fault,” Orion sighed dejectedly. "I haven't been able to please her since Regulus was born."

“You mean to say you didn’t know Regulus was coming because you haven’t even the temerity to ask your wife for your mail?” Lucretia demanded incredulously. “I bet you’ve been floo-ing straight from your office to your study without ever going through the front door of your own house! Where do you bathe?”

“I have a bathroom up here...and another at my club."

"Coward."

"Better I use discretion than braving the jaws of the harpy queen,” Orion muttered.

“Orion Malleus Black I’m ashamed of you! With you for a father and that spiteful thing for a mother, small wonder your sons both ran away from home!”

“What do you know about it Lucy, you don’t even have children! Everyone says what a fabulous job you did with Fabian and Gregory but they were practically grown men when you married Ignatius!”

“If I’d had children they would have turned out loads better than Sirius and Regulus, because I would have killed Walburga before I let her chase my children out my bloody house!”

“That’s easy for you to say! You don’t live here!”

“If she makes you so miserable why don’t you leave her in this forsaken tomb and move back to Grimalkin Castle? You love the country.”

“She’d just follow me! Salazar forbid I be happy without her approval! Do you know she’s charmed the house so if I laugh I’m attacked by biting dust mites? Don’t know how she did it. She’s a bitter old bag, but sharp as an ice pick.”

“I know your marriage contract won’t allow divorce, but Orion you can cast her out of the house! YOU are the Lord Black!”

“I couldn’t’ do that,” Orion exclaimed appalled. “Where would she go?”

“To hell if she hasn't lost her house keys! Who gives a damn?”

“I couldn’t. A Lord putting his Lady out like a ill mannered cat. What would people say?”

“I don't know? Good for you? What took so long?”

“Be serious Lucy – the shame would kill Walla. Then everyone would blame me! I’d be front page news of all the society rags. One of those horrible men who left his wife for being old and –“

“An evil sadist? A hateful hell hag?”

“AND it would break Regulus’ heart if I deserted his mother. You know they are close. Not to mention if I shamed my best friend’s sister he wouldn’t be my best friend anymore. I haven’t got much, but I’d put up with two of Walburga not to lose what little love Regulus has left for me and Alphard’s friendship.”

“Regulus won’t care! Alphard will throw you a party! He hates Walla more than I do. He doesn’t say anything because he thinks you are still hopelessly in love. Which I’ll swear to my dying day was never love but the side effects of a severe head trauma and a very potent aphrodisiac.”

“Lucy please –“

“Normal people do not propose marriage after being hit with a bludger. You were bewitched and to honorable to renege once you were back in your right mind. More fool you.”

“She was pregnant. What would you have had me do? Abandon Sirius before he was even born? I’m not that kind of man.”

“You should have exercised an ounce of Slytherin given sense. Father would not have disowned you. He never liked Uncle Cygnus, Pollux or his children anyway. Especially after what happened to Marcus – but there’s no use crying over bloodstains once they are set.”

“Lucy, I really would love to have them here! Hero is such a dear clever boy, but Walla is firm. She won’t have it on account of we don’t know who his mother was.”

“Wait, Walla has no objection to Severus? I thought they married in secret to keep her from disrupting the wedding?”

“It has come to light that Mr. Tobias Snape was born a wizard, but cursed live as a squib. Not born a muggle. Severus’ mother came from a old continental family."

"Which family?"

"His grandfather is Stavross, Prince of Pompeii. Severus if had not abdicated he would be the Grand Duke. Instead the title falls on Hero.”

“Snape is a Principe? I don’t believe it. Maggie Shand, and the Duke of Pompeii are two of the most cultured, charming men I’ve ever met. I can’t believe Severus is related them. He has the most appalling manners and no sense of style whatsoever. All he wears is black. With black accents.”

“Remember Phineas Nigellus? Talent does not need artifice to adorn it. What Severus lacks in social grace he makes up for in an ability. Hero is a different matter. The note Sirius left with him only said Hero’s mother was dead, not who she was or who her family was or anything useful.”

“What does his mother matter? It doesn't matter whether or not Sirius married the mother who ever she was. Hero is Sirius’ acknowledged son. Black by blood. Properly adopted by Regulus and Severus the old fashioned way. That makes Harry legitimately Black by Rite. That is good enough to legally inherit Lordship of House Black and its assets by the Ministry of Magic's and Gringott Bank's strictest standards. What is the problem? Don’t you love him?”

“Of course I love Hero! He’s my first born grandchild and the best little boy ever born to the house of Black – damn Cygnus and his bloody precious Draco! Regulus writes that Harry is a parselmouth - what do you say to that? First in the family since Phineas.”

“Are you quite sure?”

“There’s no mistaking a child having a tea party with all the snakes in the garden. Regulus wrote that Hero is able to converse with most reptiles. According to Hero: alligators swear a great deal, turtles know the best jokes and dragons tend to shout so much because they can’t hear very well. On account of their very small ears.”

“Have you told Walburga yet? That should go a long way to reassuring her of the mother’s pedigree. Besides our people parselmouths only pop up in the family lines of Nott and Gaunt. Can’t think of any Gaunts living in England; there are some in Ireland. Nasty people, very inbred and a bit mad.”

Orion brighten at that. “You’re right, Lucy! Why didn’t I think of it?”

“Because you’re a hopeless ninny?”

“You can’t jinx my joy! This will win over Walburga AND put Cygnus’ two bit brat to shame! Here’s what we’ll do. You invite Regulus, Severus and Harry for a weekend party, and everyone else too!”

“When you say everybody else, exactly who are you referring to Orion?”

“The whole tapestry! Alphard, Andromeda and her family, Narcissa and hers, cousin-aunt Cassiopeia and her latest boy toy, uncle Lycoris –“

“Why not the Weasleys and their assorted children while we are at it. Arthur is cousin-aunt Cedrella’s son. Merlin knows Molly could do with a little out and about after slaving for that worthless man like a house-elf all these years.”

“Capital idea! Don’t forget the MacMillans, the Burkes, the Bulstrodes, the Rosiers, the Hitchens, the Crouchs, the Longbottoms, the Yaxleys, the Gamps, the Flints –“

“How big do you think Hexam Hall is? I’ve enough room for them to dance in the ballroom, but if they want to stay over they’ll be on the floor or in the garden under the hedgerow in sleeping bags.”

“Never mind Hexam,” Orion dug inside the open neck of his night shirt and produced a large golden key attached to golden chain.

“Open up Greymalkin. I want Regulus Arcturus Black-Prince welcomed back to England by his whole family in grand style like the long lost scion of this most ancient noble house of Black that he is.”

“You think Walburga will come?”

“She’d sooner set herself on fire than miss a chance to play the gracious long suffering hostess at a grand house party. Everyone will split in two factions – Pure-minds with their blood-pride to one side and Pure-hearts with their muddy children to the other. My Hero, Black heir apparent, future Prince of Pompeii resplendent as diamond among glass beads in the middle.”

“We won’t live to see the sunrise – they’ll burn the castle down with everyone in it before pudding.”

“Pish-posh. No one in the family would ever be so crass as to commit murder where just anybody could see and suspect them – even Death Eaters had the common decency to wear masks you know.“

“Thank Merlin for good breeding amongst the psychotic members of genteel society. The shame of being raped and butchered by someone too lazy to conceal their identity would no doubt kill me,” said Lucretia sarcastically.

“You’d certainly never live it down,” Orion agreed seriously. “But you needn’t worry. All our people are inclined to poison and my son in law is a doctor and gifted Potions Master. Regulus is such a clever curse breaker I shan’t even have to worry about someone carelessly handling the family heirlooms and dark relics.”

“Rye, even if I could fill Greymalkin up with our whole extended family; you can’t really expect peace to break out just because Hero is a precious little parselmouth?”

“But he’s the key! He’s like a bridge between tradition and progress. Sirius’ son. Mother unknown. Taken in by Regulus and Severus and raised in accordance with our oldest customs. He’s proof that blood loyalty, is more important than bloodline. Each of us is a brick in the wall that makes the family strong, each generation builds upon the foundations-”

“Are you MAD! It. Won’t. Work. Half these people HATE each other. For good reason. It’ll take more than a darling boy to mend this fractured family.”

“You don’t know that. I’ve never seen anybody, no matter how tough they claim to be, who wasn’t a sucker for a pretty baby. Hero’s more than just a cute little boy, he's charming, he's clever - and most importantly he’s royalty. Curiosity will have people crawling out their graves to get a look at him. He’s got a smile that would melt even the Dark Lord.”

“Orion, you do know that Death Eaters killed children? Apple cheeked little tykes who could barely walk and tiny cooing angels in their cots.”

“Muggles and muggleborns. You can’t compare their spawn with our children. Bananas and asparagus.”

“They look just like pureblood children. That’s why Barty Crouch put Bellatrix, Rudolphus and his OWN SON in prison for supporting the last Dark Lord. Family connection be damned. Cygnus and Druella don’t care what they’ve done. They will hex Crouch to hell and back given half the chance.”

“So we don’t invite the Crouchs.”

“Bellatrix tortured Alyse and Frank Longbottom into senility. Killed old Anthony in front of Augusta.”

“We won’t invite the Longbottoms.”

“Cousin-Aunt Cassiopeia is carrying on a rather sordid affair with both Mr. and Mrs. Rokert Hitchens IV, - the adulterous husband and his adulterous wife do not know they have a mutual mistress . . .yet.”

“So we don’t have the Hitchens either – is there anyone else I can’t have at the party?”

“I wouldn’t tempt fate by giving an invitation to Uncle Lycrosis, he is definitely a vampire; and no to Dimmock Rosier. He is Druella’s twin and even SHE doesn’t trust him around Draco, you understand. His son Evan is alright – if dull as wet dust.”

“I thought those were just rumors.”

“Smoke comes from fire, brother dear.”

“Indeed…what about the rest?”

“Arthur Weasley won’t come within 10 miles of young Malfoy – Molly and Lucius were arse over elbow for each other at Hogwarts. Lucius gave Molly a Malfoy signet ring, but she gave it back and married Arthur Weasley. It was hinted that the eldest Weasley might be a Malfoy, but he isn’t blonde so who’s to say?”

“I never knew our most ancient noble family was so rife scandal.”

“You don’t know the half of it, because you never read the letters I send you –“

“Your letters are each 5 feet of tiny single spaced scrawl!”

“My letters are full of needful information!”

“Why don’t you just come over and tell me in person? You know reading gives me a headache.”

“Your wife is awful, and I’ve got better things to do than drink dishwater tea and tutor you in this dark moldy mausoleum of spiteful misery that used to be a home.”

“Lucy that was uncalled for.”

“Rye I love you. Merlin knows I do, but I’m not about to waste my time trying to save you from yourself."

Lady Lucretia Prewett rose gracefully to her feet. She dusted the crumbs from her lap and tidied her clothes with a swish of her wand. Then did the same to Orion. 

"I'm not a child!" Orion sputtered angrily as the buttons of his pajama shirt did themselves up to his neck and the hem tucked into his pajama pants.

Lucretia tucked her wand up her sleeve and tugged it straight. She ignored her brother's complaints as she usually did.

"I shall invite Regulus and his family to stay with me and Iggy while they are in England. I will properly launch them into society at the Wine Moon Ball at Hexam Hall since your worthless wife can't be arsed to do her duty.”

“That’s it? You’ll just wave your wand and take over everything? Never mind **I’m** the one in charge around here!”

“Be grateful I chose not to bare children. If I had not married Ignatius, I would have usurped your Lordship of House Black long ago...As for the Wine Moon Ball, you are invited. Your wife is not. I’ll figure out the details by myself.”

“You can’t leave Walburga off the guest list! Regulus is _her son_! I can’t go and leave her home! What would that look like? What would people say?"

"I don't care where she goes, so long as it is not Hexam Hall. By my word, Iggy won't have Walla in any house he can control."

Orion wrung his hands anxiously. "Walburga will think it's all my fault! She'll blow her _stack_  for sure! Why are you forever trying to stir up strife in my marriage Lucy? _Why?_ ”

“It's no secret. I’ve _never_ liked your wife and she has _never_ liked me. Walla is a bitch. She deserves all the trouble I can make."

"If you would both give a bit of slack instead of constantly jerking each other's chain then  -"

"That will _never_ happen," Lady Lucretia promised. "Walburga and I are more than fine with the status quo... Just so you know, I intend to make such a fuss over Reggie and his family at the Hexam Ball that Walla will eat her heart out with envy. Maybe her liver too."

Lord Orion sighed. "You know when Walburga hears that you and Ignatius hosted Regulus and Severus at Hexam Hall she'll want to throw them an even _bigger_ party at Grimmauld Place."

"Then I suggest you start getting gold out of the family vault now, because I intend to set the bar very high.”


	3. Chapter 3

Eric Eisenhardt and Charlus Prewett were intellectuals. Eric was a professor of alchemy at Oxford’s Merlin College. Charlus was an instructor at St. Mungo’s Hospital. The couple dwelt with their only child, Molina in Pryor House, the Prewett family’s Palladian style mansion in Kensington, London.

Passing muggles often mistook the grey stone townhouse for a bank built during England's glorious imperial past because the wide front steps, the glass dome, and the Corinthian columns supporting the recessed triangular space in the center of the pediment embossed rams on their hind legs supporting a coat of arms had the grandiose silhouette of a roman temple.

Inside Pryor house was a gracious home. Sunlight poured through the domed roof illuminating artwork, gilded antiques, and architectural details with a cheerful warmth that dispelled the dank gloom of London’s darkest foggiest days.

Eric and Charlus doted on their daughter. Little Molina’s childhood was colorful montage of cultural activities, cultured people, intellectual cultivation by private tutors and parental expectations of greatness.

Somehow, despite all Eric’s and Charlus’ best efforts, Molina Prewett grew up to be Molly Weasley: a frumpy, overworked house wife. She was the mother of seven nearly feral children and dwelt in an unfashionable bog deep in the heart of Devon. England’s marsh wastelands.

Molly’s husband Arthur was happily lodged in lowest the Ministry of Magic’s three tiers of management. The Arthur Weasley family home was a ramshackle cottage that had grown haphazardly from a chicken coop.

A chicken coop their chickens had been too proud to roost in.

A sickly ghoul in the attic disturbed their sleep at least two nights a week. An infestation of gnomes, which in an ordinary household would present a minor annoyance, were a serious threat the Weasley family for they depended on their garden’s harvest for the majority of their produce.

Molly’s knickers were patched and she had no nice shoes. She trimmed her own rose vine tangled curls with kitchen shears. Molly had not consumed a bite of food that she had not cooked herself since her second wedding anniversary and everything her children owned was second hand. At best.

But everything was fine. They were making due. Everyone in the Weasley family was healthy, safe and loved. Molly was too busy holding it all together to complain or wish for more - then her husband popped home at 12:45 pm on a Tuesday, asked for lunch and announced he was let go from his job.

Molly almost missed the chair when her legs gave out.

She wanted to hide her face in her faded apron and weep like a child.

Molly wanted her fathers Eric and Charlus to rise from their graves take her in their strong arms, stroke her hair and console her. They would wave their wands, and spend their gold until everything was all better. If Eric or Charlus had been alive, they would fixed everything. 

Molly’s eyes hurt with the effort not to cry.

She blinked rapidly and breathed deeply through her nose until the tide of despair and fury that swept over her had receded to manageable levels.

The Weasley family lived on the knife edge of poverty, but Arthur did not seem the least bit worried that he had lost their primary source of income.

Molly wanted to throttle Arthur with her bare hands. She wanted to watch his face turn red, his lips turn blue and his eyes bulge out for lack of air. Then maybe Arthur would understand what it felt like to be the mother of children that were barely provided for.

Maybe then Arthur would not be so blasé about being unexpectedly unemployed.

Molly’s eyes flicked past her husband’s shoulder. Molly's keen maternal instinct alerted her to where little Ronald and Geneva were peeking round the corner with wide curious eyes. With her children watching and listening Mrs. Weasley refrained from verbally tearing a strip out of her husband’s hide as she longed to do.

Molly got up from the table. She counted to twenty in Chinese in her head while wiping her hands on her apron to keep them from striking her husband. When she felt she could open her mouth without screaming Molly asked her husband in a carefully calm voice: “How did you lose your job… _Arthur_?”

She wanted to say _you soggy arse wipe_. It seemed every time Molly said Arthur lately she meant some variation on that theme.

“Seems like you were right my dear. Those rumors your Aunt Lucy mentioned in her last letter weren’t just rumors after all.”

Molly walked away from her husband with her lips pressed tightly together. There was nothing she could say to him that would not turn the air blue.

Well _of course_ Aunt Lucy was right! She had tea or cocktails with almost every influential person in Europe! If Lady Lucretia Prewett repeated picked up from her social connections it was a **fact**. Or a _prediction_ of a fact in the making.

Molly busied herself with preparing a plate of food for her husband and did not spare a moment to lament the fact she would not be getting new wellies this year.

The Oxfam in Exeter had a good selection. The children were to young to apparate but if Molly floo-ed to the _Hexes and Holes pub_ early in the day there was no chance she would run into any familiar (condescending) faces from her school days on the high street. Molly could sell the yarn she had spun from the silver lining of a cloud for a small sack of galleons to Wool on the Exe and pick up some necessities.

She _could_ also kill her husband and go home to her wealthy family.

Molly warmed Arthur’s bangers and mash with a wave of her wand remembering what her father Eric had once said about secreting fire salamander eggs into the baked potatoes of Nazis. Father Eric always had such a dramatic _flare_.

Molly set the plate on the table in front of Arthur with slightly more force than necessary, then took the chair across from him. For a few minutes while Arthur dug into his lunch, Molly considering all the poisons she could make from the foodstuff in the larder or the plants growing in the garden. The cold snap had not killed all the daffodils, if she cut up the stems Arthur would think they were shallots and the man loved the taste of onion...

Mindful of her audience, Molly laced her fingers together on the table in front of her – to keep her from reflexively slapping her husband – and asked calmly, “so what happened to the money…Arthur?”

“Who knows? Maybe Mr. Spink was incompetent. Maybe the Ministry was somehow robbed-“

Molly shook her head in denial frowning. “The Ministry of Magic’s gold deposits are in Gringotts. If someone robbed the goblins there would be a smoking crater in the middle of Diagon Alley. They've got a live dragon down in the Deep. I saw it once as a girl."

“What I’m saying Molly is that _officially_ the explanation is that _there is_ no explanation. No one knows for certain how it happened. All anyone knows is there isn’t enough gold to go around. Minister Fudge held a meeting and ordered cuts across the board. Every department. All non-essential staff are furloughed. Indefinitely.”

All _non-essential_ staff.

Arthur’s lack of ambition and faffing about had come back to bite _them all_ on the arse.

If Arthur had shown the _slightest_ interest, if Arthur had put in a _decent_ effort – Department Head Bartimus Crouch Sr. would have promoted him from lower management to middle management long ago.

Arthur and Bartimus’ fathers - Septimus Weasely and Caspar Crouch were near brothers (what muggles would call first cousins) and lifelong friends.

Arthur could have built an entire career on that connection.

Amos Diggory had certainly done more with less.

Mrs. Elba Diggory had bragged at the last neighborhood picnic on the Otter St. Catchpole common, that her husband had became Rufus Scrimgeour’s Senior Manager in the Department of for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures because _she_ served on the Hogwart’s Auxiliary Board with Mrs. Suz-Annette Scrimgeour; Elba's  _best friend_ at Hogwarts.

Mother Weasley had not shut up about _that_ for _years_. Never mind the seven children demanding her attention; Mrs. Cedrella Weasley nee Black had insisted it was _Molly's job_ to make the _right connections_ and ease Arthur's way up in the world.  

In Molly's opinion the only sad thing about Cedrella's death three years ago was she had nothing to do with it.

“How long is indefinitely? Days? Weeks? Months?” Molly asked tensely, forcibly putting Elba Diggory’s sympathy when she hear about Arthur’s predicament out of her mind.

Elba was jealous because the Diggory’s had only produced one child. Elba thought Molly’s little Geneva _just might do_ for her son Cedric in twenty years…over Molina Prewett’s dead re-animated body.

No one was arranging a marriage for Molina’s only daughter.

Geneva would marry for love…a kind, _rich_ , genius who worshiped her like a pagan goddess on Beltane.

“I don’t know, my dear. Nobody knows anything for sure just now.”

“I know our children need to _eat_ ,” Molly said pointedly. “Without any gold coming in the door I’d like to know _how_ we are going to feed them?”

“Don’t fret Molly. We’ll be alright.”

“How can you possibly say that? For Godric’s sake, winter is coming! What will we do for Yule?” Molly asked desperately.

“Charlie, Bill, Percy, Fred and George will just have to stay at school over the holiday this year," Arthur said reasonably. "They will be fine. They’ll have each other for company and the school feast. Ron and Ginny don’t eat much, or expect much.” Mr. Weasley patted his wife’s hand. “Don’t worry, we’ll be alright.”

Molly stared at her husband.

The slightly hunchbacked flabby lump of optimism with thinning reddish grey hair, a quick easy smile wearing robes repeated washing had turned from black to grey. Arthur was a good man, an excellent father, an attentive lover whose gift for oral sex was worthy of an epic poem.

What Molly hated about her husband, the _only_ thing Molly hated about her husband was that nothing, absolutely _**NOTHING**_ seemed to shake Arthur’s cow-like placidity.

It infuriated Molly that her children went without the things she had taken for granted as a child.

The Weasley children had never had a proper holiday away; never attended cultural events that required money, never took part in extra-curricular activities during the summer or had the opportunity to enjoy the society intellectuals who could help them discover their own intellectual passions.

The Weasely children did not know any members of Molly’s family, the Prewetts, besides her Aunt Lucy and Uncle Iggy.

Now they were not even going to have Yule at home because there would be no money for it.

She said “I think I’ll go chop some wood. We will want to save the coal for winter.”

“Excellent idea my dear. I’ll come out and join you as soon as I finish my lunch.”

“Don’t trouble yourself. Eat, relax – you’ve had a long morning. Ron and Ginny will be up from their nap in a tick. You should read to them from Ancient Runes for Youngsters. It’s never too early to start their education.”

Molly went outside, pulled a pair of garden gloves from her apron’s pocket and headed for the chopping block.

On her wedding day, when she was three months pregnant, Molly had been a dainty 126 pounds. Sixteen years of marriage later Molly’s handled an axe like a born lumberjack. She could beat most men in their neighborhood in arm wrestling. Including Arthur.

Molly’s father Eric was verbally abusive. He would shout the house down for the slightest offense. The fury of Eric’s wild magic could make an entire room full of furniture fly around like leaves caught in a dust devil while he bellowed and raged.

Molly saw her father Eric make his students, colleagues - even strangers on the street - wet themselves in fear. Only Molly’s firebrand Aunt Lucretia was willing or able to stand up to Eric when he was having a fit of anger.

Papa Charles made excuses. Father Eric lived through **THE WAR.** A muggle bomb fell on his village. Everything was obliterated. Everyone was killed in a flash of light and fire. Everyone _except_ Eric. The only wizard in a twenty mile radius.

Without his parents, their paperwork, and having no one alive who could verify his identity the bank would not give Eric access to his family’s accounts. Eric made his own way in the world. He lived in the alleys of Berlin like a rat with the rest of the war orphans surviving as best he could.

The post war chaos was a golden opportunity for the strong to prey on the weak. Eric was just one of many magical children kidnapped by a faction of dwarves. Young Eric learned alchemy while he slaved over the dwarf forges deep in the Earth. It was years before he was rescued by Gillert Grindelwald’s fanatics and sent to Drumstrang on a scholarship.

To his credit Eric never abused Molly. He did not even spank her when she was naughty. Eric never hit Charlus either, but his harsh words were worse than broken bones or bruises. Those would have healed with time, but the things he said stayed with Molly for the rest of her life.

Molly could not forget the awful things Father Eric used to say or the way her Papa Charlus would be reduced to a trembling huddle of helpless tears and humiliation.

He always apologized after – bought Charlus gifts, took him on trips, and composed music just for him. Charlus always forgave Eric, and Eric always promised it would never happen again.

Until of course it did.

To Molly, the gifts and gestures were not sufficient atonement for the pain Eric caused. As a little girl, watching her father Charlus cower before the Eric, from behind furniture or through a crack in a half closed door Molly vowed she would never hurt her family the way her Father hurt her Papa.

She vowed never to raise her voice in anger outside of a life or death situation.

So she chopped wood instead of chastising her husband.

By late afternoon, Molly had hacked up the better part of a log into neat cord wood. A large owl with brown feathers and black speckling its wings and head glided low over the garden hedge and perched atop the neat pyramid of stacked kindling.

“Hullo there.” Molly propped her axe up on the side of her tree stump chopping block, pulled off her gloves and walked over to the regal bird. “Aren’t you a great beauty.”

The owl quirked its large black ear tuft feathers and blinked his yellowish eyes at Molly. “Oohu?”

“If you’re looking for the Weasley’s you’ve found us. If you’ll wait a tick, I’ll fetch you a treat from the kitchen.”

Molly hurried back across the yard, and into the kitchen. Three places of dirty dishes were still on the table from lunch.

“What’s the rush Molly?” Arthur called to her. He was sitting in his favorite lumpy wingback.

They had picked it up from the side of the road in the Cotswolds during their honeymoon. They married at the justice of the peace and hid in an abandoned abbey until Molly was visibly pregnant so the Prewetts would not find them and force their union to be annulled.

At the time Molly though it was all a lark. She had no idea it was a sign of things to come.

Ginny and Ron sat on the arms of the chair on either side of their father, reading from the comics in the newspaper open across Arthur’s lap.

“Someone’s sent us post by eagle owl.”

“Really? Haven’t seen one in ages. Can’t think of anyone who could keep such a costly creature as that. Who do you suppose it’s from?”

“Could it be from work?” She picked up a tidbit of sausage for the bird waiting for her outside. “Perhaps they let you go by mistake?”

Mr. Weasley shook his head. “The ministry uses barn owls. They are cheap to keep and hearty to boot. I hope it is a wedding announcement, not a funeral notice. We lost enough people during the war.”

Molly hurried outside to the waiting owl. It daintily nibbled up the food then extend his leg for Molly to take the blue scroll tied up silver ribbon. As she unrolled the paper, the owl spread his wings and glided up and away. A lovely harp melody played as she read the flowing silver script.

_Lord and Lady Ignatius Ravencroft Prewett cordially invite your family_   
_To the Stonehenge Heritage Festival’s Annual Wine Moon Ball_   
_On September ----, at 12:00 p.m_   
_Hexam Hall_   
_Village Axemaster, England_   
_Kindly respond to Lady Ignatius Ravencroft Prewett by September --_   
_To confirm your attendance_

Molly walked back into the house slowly. She re-read the scroll twice. Uncle Ignatius and Aunt Lucretia were the only Prewetts not ashamed to be seen with her. Molly was not officially disowned, but the rest of the Prewetts pointedly did not invite her family to any of their gatherings.

Her Uncle Ignatius and Aunt Lucretia sent birthday cards with gold galleons to her children. They always invited the Weasley family to their events, but Molly always declined. They even graciously lent Molly the use of their house-elf Pigott during her pregnancies or when she needed a sitter.

“Who owled Molly?” Arthur asked looking up as Molly walked looking at the invitation.

“The Ignatius Prewetts. They’ve invited us to the Wine Moon Ball. _Again_ ,” Molly sighed wistfully.

“That’s nice. When is it?” Arthur asked absently turning his attention back to the cartoons in the newspaper.

“What does it matter. We can’t go,” Molly snapped irately.

“Why not?”

“Because the Hexam Ball is _black tie and tiara."_

"So what."

"We haven’t a decent thing to _wear_!”

“Nonsense Molly. It is a family gathering. They won’t _care_ what you wear so long as you come. Wear any old thing.”

“ _Arthur_ sometimes you are such a _man_ I wonder how stand it!”

“What?”

Molly hurried upstairs and locked herself in the bathroom. She pulled out her champagne and strawberries bath salts and filled her tub with fragrant messaging bubbles. She shucked off her clothes and slipped into the water letting the bubbles soothe her tired shoulders and arms.

Of course Arthur would see nothing wrong with showing up at Hexam Hall in a dress Molly made from curtains, with her unemployed husband and her tribe of semi-domesticated, hell-haired primates in tow.

There was absolutely no reason for her to go to the ball, except she longed to see her aunt and uncle. They were like her parents glittering, and glamorous. Always flitting about the globe like stylish gypsies. Surrounded by interesting things, and fascinating people.

It would be nice to not have to cook her dinner. To eat off bone china with sterling silver flatware. To be waited on hand and foot by house elves like a duchess. It was a bad idea, but Molly had always been very bad about resisting temptation and knowing when enough was enough.


	4. Chapter 4

The Wine Moon Ball at Hexam Hall was one of the four major events of the magical social calendar. It attracted an eclectic mix of celebrities, intellectuals, artist, politicians, pure-blood peers, nouveau riche social climbers, established titans of industry and young people from disgraced or impoverished legacy bloodlines ready to re-establish their family name. 

While Lady Lucretia Prewett enjoyed being a social gatekeeper hosting the Hexam Hall Wine Moon Ball nearly overwhelmed her reserves of social grace.

As the consort of the reigning lord, Lucretia did not have authority over the wards of Hexam Hall, the ancient family home of House Prewett, but because of her marriage she was sensitive to the protective magic of the old manse.

Hexam Hall’s wards informing Lucretia that the house was full of strangers felt like ice ants swarming all over her skin.

Lucretia had never experienced anything similar. The Blacks did not entertain outsiders at home.

It made Lucretia want to tear her clothes off and scratch her skin with a stiff bristle hair brush.

The only way for Lucretia to endure the maddening sensation without going mad, was to distract herself.

While Lord Ignatius was content to stand at the foot of the stairs greeting their guest as a one man receiving line; his wife walked laps from the front doors, down long hall hung with art and dotted with sculpture, down the stairs to her husband’s side, around the vast ballroom to the veranda, back to her husband’s side, back up the stairs, across the hall and back to the front doors like a toy train on a track.  

When Lucius Malfoy’s family was announced Lucretia was back at her husband's side. She glanced up from her conversation Lord and Lady Yaxley were having with her husband Lord Ignatius to say. "Look, Iggy. Luc and Cissa decided to come after all."

The young couple and their son had paused at the top of the stairs. The ballroom roughly the size of a regulation Quidditch pitch and six sided. The stairs were wide enough to act as stadium seating for a thousand. The glass ceiling was vaulted like a Victorian greenhouse and supported by six statues of women dressed in togas.  

A live orchestra performed the Blue Danube Waltz from a platform on the crystal chandelier floating halfway between the floor and ceiling like a palace made of glitter and rhinestones.

Hundreds of couples moved round and round the dance floor, ( and through the air round and round the chandelier) in a dizzy swirl of colorful robes like a rainbow of rags tossed into the spin cycle of a washing machine.

With rictus smiles fixed firmly in place the Malfoys surveyed the crowded room for friendly faces, and found none. The Death Eater debacle was still an oozing wound.

Lady Helene Yaxley followed Lucretia’s gaze.

“You invited the young Malfoys?” she asked surprised.

The young Malfoys were rarely seen in public after Voldemort's disappearance.

“They wouldn't be here if they were not invited,” Lord Ignatius replied.

“With Rufus, Bartimus and Lady Augusta all expected to make an appearance?”Lord Cecil inquired disbelieving.

 

"Lucy you muckraking minx!”Lady Helene cried gleefully. "I shall make you two muffin baskets!" 

“Iggy you can’t release five hellbent bludgers in a locked room and not expect bloodshed!” Lord Cecil scolded. "What were you thinking?"

“Don't listen to my worry wart. The ball wouldn't be complete without an impressive fireworks display,” Lady Yaxley said.

“There will be no fighting in my house!” Lord Ignatius declared firmly. “Anyone who raises a wand in anger under my roof will trigger the wards and I will do nothing to save them.”

“Hhmmm. Lucius and Narcissa look a little lost. I had better help them find their footing. Please do, excuse me.”

Lady Lucretia Prewett stepped away from the Yaxleys before they could say more. She met the Malfoys halfway down the stairs, and extended her hand for Lucius to bow over.

“Lord Malfoy! Narcissa, my darling! I’m so glad you could find time to attend our little gathering.” Lady Prewett  leaned forward to air kissed both Narcissa’s cheeks.

“Aunt Lucy we are delighted to be here,” Narcissa said happily.

Technically Lucretia was Narcissa’s cousin. But amongst long lived pure blood wizards it was easier to keep track of family members by designating their generation rather than their actual genealogical position on the family tree.

“My goodness Lady Prewett, you have outdone yourself this year,” Lucius drawled.  “This is almost a crush.”

“You know how a guest list grows. You start out with just your family and close friends. Then everyone must brings guests of their own and voila!” Lucretia replied with an elegant wave at the throng behind her.

“Your magic beans grow into a beanstalk tower up to Avalon. Lady Prewett but you are hereby barred from Narcissa’s garden. I do not want you giving the Devil’s Snare ambitious  _ideas_.”

They all laughed politely at Lucius’ witticism.

“Oh look at Master Draco,” Lady Lucretia cooed at the boy standing between his parents. She pinched his cheek affectionately. “Aren’t you adorable?”

Draco took the lady’s hand, and bowed over it with a sharp click of his heels in a stiff imitation of his father’s courtly grace.

“Thank you for inviting me to your lovely home, Lady Prewett,” the blonde boy said solemnly.

“You are quite welcome Draco.”

“Can I go play with the other children now?” Draco asked eagerly. “Mummy said there would be loads of kids my age and we could-”

“Draco –“ Lucius growled exasperated, and his son shrank away from him.

“Sorry father,” Draco mumbled looking at his shoes abashed.

Lady Prewett interceded.

“We’ve turned the children loose in the maze. There are prizes if you can find them,” Lucretia promised handing Draco a map she produced from thin air.

“Really?! Oh boy! Can I go now? Please?!” Draco looked eagerly from his parents to Lady Prewett for permission.

“Of course child. Pigott?”

A house elf appeared beside Lucretia with a muted pop.

“Madam calls?”

“Escort Master Draco to the garden. Personally keep an eye on him. Report to Narcissa if there is an issue.”

“Yes, Madam.”

The house elf took Draco’s hand and disappeared with another pop.

“The children are taking their dinner in the breakfast room. Call for Pigott. When you are ready to collect Draco.”

Lucretia took up Lucius' free arm and ushered the Malfoys to where husband Lord Ignatius Prewett was receiving guest at the bottom of the stairs.

“Lucius, Narcissa, good to see you!” Lord Prewett greeted the couple with genuine warmth. He shook Lucius’ hand and bowed over Narcissa’s hand.

“Thank you for having of us,” Narcissa said smiling, “We always enjoy your little soiree –“

“Little? Balderdash!” Lord Prewett mock glared at his unrepentant wife. “Lucy’s flung the windows open and let a swarm of locust in. Don’t know where she gets these people –“

“A some are your relations, some are mine. The rest are dear, dear friends we could not possibly have done without tonight.”

“Tomorrow I am burning your address book and giving the family tree a good pruning,” Ignatius huffed. “Speaking of family. Where is your son Lucius?”

“He’s with the other children in the garden,” Lucretia told her husband. “Peek in when the children go to dinner. You can’t miss him. The very image of Abraxas.”

“How is your father Lucius?”

“Tolerably well, Lord Prewett. Tolerably well.”

“Is he settled in Chenonceau with your uncle Ambrose and his husband Basilides? Or is he terrorizing Paris with his blistering letters to the editor and a run for public office?”

“Poor Abarxas has burned too many bridges to get into French politics and knows to many secrets to stay out of the opinion pages," Narcissa said sympathetically.

"Father resents retirement - but still prefers to have nothing to do with society at large.”

“Lord Abraxas asked us to remind you, Lord Prewett, of his standing invitation to come drink drink the wine cellar dry and bemoan the state of the world,” Narcissa added.

“Let me guess: Abraxas is wretched because you two good for nothings had half a dozen children and Lucius has not become Minister of Magic despite all his scheming and bribery?”

Lucius barked a genuine laugh before he could stop himself. Embarrassed, he covered his mouth with his hand. “I beg your pardon sir –“

“Lucius, please. We’ve known Abraxas since he was in short pants and I was in pigtails,” Lucretia assured him. “His cheerful disposition no secret here.”

“Tell Abraxas, I said, he’s no cause for complaint. At least he’s got a little chap to spoil. My sons Fabian and Gideon? They slag around like Babylonian hookers on holiday and I’ve got nothing to show for it. I’d be delighted to have so much as a bastard squib grandchild to bounce on my knee.”

Lucius laughed again, this time unrestrained and infectiously happy. It was a beautiful deep sound that reminded Lucretia that the Malfoys had Veela blood and the seductive voices of sirens or succubus when they chose to sing.

“Don’t give up hope, Lord Prewett. Once Giddy and Bean meet the right witch or wizard I’m sure you’ll be double parking prams in a thrice,” Narcissa assured the old gentlemen consolingly.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve set you between Fabian and Gideon at dinner,” Lady Prewett told the Malfoys.

“I’m counting on you two to subtlety extolled the domestic joys,” Lord Prewett added in a low conspiratorial tone, “Perhaps if my sons see a happy stylish couple pleased with marriage and parenthood they’ll be more inclined to try it themselves.”

It was a kindness. Even years after the disappearance of the Dark Lord and the fall of the Death Eaters there were still people who snubbed the Malfoys publicly.

The Malfoys would not have to deal with stilted, awkwardness at dinner insulated between Fabian and Gideon Prewett.

“You can count on us to champion the cause,” Narcissa promised her hostess.

“There are few things that give a parent more pleasure than discussing the virtues of their child,” Lucius agreed.

“Please excuse us, Lord and Lady Prewett, I spy my mother on the veranda. She’ll be unbearably cross if we don’t make our presence known to her before we set about amusing ourselves until dinner.”

The Prewetts and Malfoys bowed to each other. Then the Malfoys merged into the dance so they could be swept gracefully to the open French doors without trying to a bumble directly across a room full of waltzing couples.

Lord and Lady Prewett turned arm and arm as their next guest was announced at the top of the stairs.

Lady Augusta Longbottom, stomped down the stairs tugging her chubby stumbling grandson Neville by the hand.

“Did I just see the Malfoys?” Lady Longbottom demanded, “How did they get in here?”

“We invited them. Just as we invited you,” Lady Lucretia answered. “We invite all of our friends to the Hexam Ball.”

“Do not violate the hospitality of Hexam Hall because of your personal history,” Lord Prewett replied imperiously, insulted to have his judgement questioned by a guest in his home.

“Personal history? _Personal History!_ The Black-Lestranges murdered my husband then tortured by son and his wife to the point of madness!”

“Your son and his wife were Aurors. A horrible death is de rigueur of that profession,” Lord Prewett replied coolly.

“Is Millard’s death tragic? He died saving his beloved grandson - isn’t that the sort of thing all Gryffindors aspire to? Aren’t you proud of him?” Lucretia looked down, directing the question to Neville.

The boy frowned thoughtfully then answered seriously, “I’m proud of grandfather, but I wish he wasn’t dead. Nan and I miss him terribly.”

“Of course you do child,” Lucretia said kindly patting his shoulder. “I miss my grandparents too, but -”

“I won’t stand for this absurd mockery!” Lady Longbottom’s hideous bird hat tilted forward on her head like a christmas goose about to slide off a platter.

“Then by all means leave!” Lord Prewett snapped back.

“Or stay,” Lucretia cut in.

“Why would I-”

“I would like to introduce you to my godson’s husband, Dr. Severus Black-Prince. He studied the Seattle Magical Medical Institute with the Crane brothers.”

“What is it to me where Regulus’ husband went to school or who he studied with?”

“The Cranes specialize in hopeless cases like your son and his wife,” Lady Lucretia informed her.

“You had better behave Augusta,” Ignatius ordered. “We won’t lift a finger for your family if you make a nuisance of yourself tonight.”

“I don’t need your help! I’ll take Frank and Alice to Seattle myself!”

“As you wish,” Lucretia replied nonchalantly. “Of course the waiting list is ten years long, but I’m sure you know best.”

Lady Longbottom’s lip trembled, and she blinked back tears.

“Lucy how can you be so cruel? You know what I’ve suffered!”

Lady Prewett took Lady Longbottom by the arm and swiftly guided her to away from the crowd.  Six stone statues of women dressed in togas supported a glass ceiling, vaulted like a Victorian greenhouse, on their heads. A private alcove was hidden in the shadow behind the statue to the right of the dining room doors. Lucretia pushed the matron to sit on one end of the padded bench and summoned her servant.

“Kent!”

“Yes Madam?”

“Take Master Neville to the garden. Tell Pigott to mind him. Report any problems to Lady Longbottom. After that, fetch two glasses of port.”

“Yes Madam.”

The house-elf took Neville's hand, disappeared, then reappeared a moment latter with two old fashioned glasses on a silver tray.

Lady Prewett took one for herself and forced the other into Lady Longbottom’s hands.

“Drink that, steady your nerves.”

Lady Longbottom took a generous swallow from her glass, then dabbed her eyes with her lace handkerchief.

“I can’t prove it,” Lady Longbottom said bitterly. “But I know Rabastan has bribed a judiciary clerk to keep their case off the docket. They’ll die of old age before they are sentenced.”

“I can’t imagine why Rabastan is stalling for time. Their guilt could not be more obvious. Bellatrix gleefully confesses every chance she gets.”

“They never found a body after the Dark Lord disappeared. I suppose Rabastan hopes that he will reappear to save his twin and wife if he drags it out long enough,” Augusta guessed.

“If the Dark Lord could come back he’d be outside right now banging on the gates, raising seven hells as he did before.”

“That madman tried to crash the Hexam Hall ball?” Lady Augusta asked.

“He did,” Lucretia confirmed. “The ward beast woke up for the  first time in 556 years...I think that was the year you and Millard had Dragon Pox.”

“We did not go out much that year. Quarantine you know. I vaguely recall someone saying James Potter and Sirius pulled down their trousers and pants to mooned the Death Eaters?”

“The Potters begged Iggy to open the floo, and let them take the boys home early. I wish I had spoken to them before they left. I did not see the Fleamont and Euphemia again until their funeral.”

“Wasn’t it tragic? Killed at their only son’s wedding along with the bride’s parents. Poor dears,” Augusta sighed.

“A Death Eater attack was bound to happen after they literally showed their arses in public!” Lucretia exclaimed. “And who ever heard of wizard marrying in a _church?”_

“Bless Monty and Mia for going along with it. I suppose they would have gone along with anything – James was their only child,” Augusta reflected. “Still, I’ve always wondered why they did not have a proper handfasting at Kilgore.”

“If he had, Lord Orion would have attended with the whole family. James wanted to thumb his nose at Walburga on Sirius’ account. He ended up insulting Henry Jr and the rest of the Potters. They refused to attend the ceremony. The death toll was so high because the crowd was mostly muggles.”

“I’ve nothing against Muggle-borns personally, you understand. But I wouldn’t want one in my family,” Augusta confided.

“I understand,” Lucretia agreed. “If the Evans girl was one of us, they could have sheltered at HER family’s home.”

“Don’t you think Henry Jr. was wrong to bar them from Kilgore Park right after the Monty and Mia’s funeral?” Augusta asked.

“Kilgore is no Hexam Hall. Henry Jr. had his own family to think of. Uncle or not Henry Jr. was within his as rights too kick them all out after James provoked the Dark Lord.”

“Now James and the muggle born girl are dead, the baby is missing and nobody can account for what happened to the Dark Lord. You know they never even found the body. So many unanswered questions. So many loose strings.”

“I know one loose end that’s soon to be snipped,” Lucretia said smug.

“Do tell.”

“ I have it on good authority that the Lestranges and their little friends are going to finally be tried, convicted and executed.”

Lady Longbottom gripped Lady Prewett’s arm urgently. “Are you sure? Are you positively, absolutely sure?”

“Someone we can count on has finally positioned herself to take the ministry firmly in hand. I have confidence order will finally be restored in England.”

“Thank Merlin, for that!” Lady Longbottom knocked back the rest of her port in one gulp. “We’ve lived in a quagmire of chaos, fear and bloodshed since Grindelwald!”

“I couldn’t agree more. The Coven of Kismet is weaving a new Serendipity Circle. I am not privy to all the details-”

“Of course, of course, it becomes more clear as it progresses - what can you tell me?”

“The tentative reading predicts your son and his wife will take up prominent positions of authority at the Ministry in a year, a year and a half’s time.”

“If they are interested.”

“Of course.”

“After their complete rehabilitation both physically and emotionally.”

“Certainly.”

Despite her disadvantageous position in their negotiation, Lady Prewett respected Lady Longbottom’s absolute right to protect the best interest of her family. She would do the same.

Tearing down everyone who might someday rise to power was a man’s instinct. Building a strong network to act as both safety net and shield in times of trouble was a women’s.

The men of the wizarding world had had their own way for much too long, much to everyone’s detriment in Lady Prewett’s opinion.

It was time for the Coven of Kismet, (a society of matriarchs with far sight), to restore peace, and stability.

“To move forward, we need the Black-Prince’s enthusiastic cooperation. Please do contain your animosity for the Black-Malfoy families so Severus’ can be prevailed upon to be useful.”

“Severus has a history with Lucius?”

“As far as I know Severus is Narcissa’s friend first and foremost.”

“My son is going to be restored to me, Bellatrix and Rodolphus are a pair of corpses walking,” Mrs. Longbottom smiled broadly at Lucretia.

“I think I could dance with Cygnus himself and drink a toast to Druella’s health with the charm of a giddy debutante.”

Lucretia laughed, “Don’t go too far, we don’t want to tip anyone off and rouse suspicion.”

“Of course, of course,” Mrs. Longbottom agreed. “Quiet as it’s kept, until the trap is set.”

“Now, when we go our separate ways – go directly to your brother-in-law and his wife in the card room. The Blacks and their sympathizers are all strutting and posing out on the terrace.”

“When will I be presented to Dr. Black-Prince? In the cardroom? At the dinner table?”

“I will have Regulus introduce the two of you. I warn you, he is very brusk with strangers. Do not let Severus’ aloof disposition provoke your temper or he’ll never help your son.”

“Where is Dr. Black-Prince be now?”

“Chasing the children through the maze. Been at it for hours with no desire to come in and mingle with the adults.”

“Doesn’t that Reminds you of Albus Dumbledore?”

“If you love your son and his wife don’t ever let Severus hear you compare him to Dumbledore or Voldemort in any way shape or form.”

“Why?”

“Severus loathes them both.”

Mrs. Longbottom raised her eyebrows in surprise. “He hates Albus Dumbledore? How very peculiar.”

“He was a poor muggle-born in Slytherin when Voldemort was raising in influence. I’m sure you can imagine how disagreeable that was,” Lady Lucretia said to excuse him.

“Then I can’t say I’m surprised Severus doesn’t care for Albus. You know, a number of unacceptable things happened at Hogwarts during the last dark age…”

“Oh? You are familiar with the reason behind Severus’ pronounced dislike of both the Dark and Light Lords?”

“Between Slughorn’s lackadaisical  supervision and Dumbledore’s preoccupation with the war- _well_ . Frank was a Prefect. He _saw things_ . Heard _rumors_. You understand?”

“Perfectly.”

“Tell me more about Dr. Black Prince.”

“Severus is a misanthropic cynical genius, who disdains company but adores his husband and son. Win over Regulus, or Hero and there is nothing Severus won’t do for you.”

“I’ll start by talking about Neville, which will naturally segue to his parents.”

“Don’t won’t waste this opportunity. Severus rarely makes public appearances, and this is his first trip to England since the Dark Lord vanished. Who knows when we'll see him next.”

“Thank you Lucy.”

Augusta Longbottom kissed both Mrs. Prewett’s cheeks and they both stood up. As the ladies emerged from their hiding place, Alford Longbottom appeared out of thin air.

“Ignatius sent Kent to retrieve me,” Lady Longbottom’s older brother in law explained, stepping forward. “Are you alright Augusta? You look a little off colour.”

“I was a bit faint; Lady Prewett kindly guided me to a chair to rest a moment.”

“Do you want me escort you home? I can come back and fetch Neville once you’re settled.”

“Absolutely not,” the matriarch declared imperiously. “I’m quite restored. Neville is off enjoying himself with people his own age. I feel lucky. Let us retire to the cardroom.”

“As you wish.”

Augusta stepped gracefully into Alford’s arms and they seamlessly joined the dancers and disappeared. Lucretia fanned herself as she approached her husband.

“The last of our guest have arrived. The wards are set. We are at our leisure until dinner. My goodness Lucy love, youlook completely done in.”

“I'm alright Iggy, no need to fuss.”

Ignatius Prewett took his wife’s hand and tucked it into his arm, then kissed her cheek affectionately. “Did the battle-axe give you trouble?”

“No more than I expected,” she replied tiredly. “I think I will find a sweep around the dance floor to the terrace will be very refreshing.”

“No you won’t.”

Lord Prewett opened his arms and Lady Prewett gracefully stepped into them. The couple gracefully merged into the whirlpool of waltzers circling around the floor and in the air.

“No I won’t, but I need to collect Regulus and start mingling with our guests. You need to take command of the Cardroom.”

“And make sure nobody is betting their soul away under our roof,” Ignatius finished. “Remind me why we inflict this misery on ourselves every year Dovey?”

“Because wealth, and status come with certain obligations and social connections require careful cultivation?”

“Spoken like a true Black princess.”

“You knew what I was when you married me.”

“And I hope you never change.”

The grandfather clock in the cardroom pronounced the time was six o'clock as the Prewetts passed the open doors. Lucretia craned her neck searching the faces in the crowd.

“Please tell me Rye is here somewhere? Dinner is in an hour! If he spoils months of seating chart planning by  not coming - **_I will_** **_not_** be held responsible for my actions,” she vowed.

“Orion arrived just before I warded the doors,” Ignatius assured his wife. He kissed her, turning her worried frown up side down.

“Oh good,” Lucretia said with relief. “Where is he? I want to keep him close at hand so he does not blunder into the Minister of Magic or some grudge holding Death Eater victim.”

“I sent your pretty pet clerk to act as Orion’s chaperone and companion for the evening. You should _have seen_ Cygnus and Druella’s faces when Orion and Khalid waltzed by.”

“They won’t wait till they go home to Grimmauld,” Lucretia said gleefully. “Cygnus will throw floo powder on a candle to make sure _he’s_ the _first_ to fire call Walla to tattle on Rye.”

“Walburga will be spitting when she hears her husband was swanning around with Khalid... We should have Orion to stay with us for the week, while Regulus’ family are staying here.”

Ignatius made the suggestion sound perfectly reasonable, his wife smiled wickedly.

“Remind me to ask my mother’s portrait to pop over to Grimmauld Place to witness Walla’s reaction...by the way how did you manage it?”

“Manage what?”

“Khalid. He hates to dance, but he loves to play cards. I expected Khalid to fleece everybody in the cardroom tonight and retire a rich man tomorrow.”

“That would have ruined our party so I forbid it. I told Mr.Khalid Shafiq he could either dance or translate the Lothlorien trade agreement from Quenya to Khazdul, and English.”

“Khalid Shafiq’s not fluent enough for that! His high-elvish is horrible, and his dwarvish is terrible – he would have never be able to complete the assignment to your satisfaction!”

“Then Shafiq should not have boasted of abilities he did not possess on his resume.”

“Have a little mercy, Iggy.”

“I am merciful. I hired the simpering twerp didn’t I? I haven’t killed him for fawning over my wife have I?”

“Khalid admires my fashion sense, but he prefers the company of men. Don’t be so hard on Khalid. He works very hard for you.”

“He’s supposed to work hard for me! That’s what I pay him for! I’m not running a charity Lucy.”

“No, you’re not. However it would behoove to be nicce.  Borgin and Burke would like nothing better than to snap up the talent you’ve painstakingly developed.”

“They wouldn’t _dare_! I’ve got contracts! Iron-clad contracts!”

“Which can be bought out or broken with a clever enough lawyer on the case. As you know.”

“I'll keep them tied up in court till kingdom come!”

“Which is a waste of time, and money. Look Fabian and Gideon aren’t interested in the business -”

“If I had grandchildren that wouldn't be an issue!”

“Until you get a interested grandchild you should pick apprentices from our cousins - or one of Molly’s boys if they will take the Prewett name.”

“I suppose,” Ignatius said thoughtfully. “Bill and Charlie have the raw power but Percy has the temperment.”

“Lovely. In the meantime stop torturing our workers before they all run away before someone in the family is trained up.”

“Very well. If I must.”

“Please do.”

“But Lucy it’s so much fun watching the clerks jump and scurry in trembling terror when I bellow at them.”

Lucretia laughed. She understands from personal experience  much fun it is to be a bully. She used to menance her younger brother and cousins. Especially Walburga.

“I am sure it makes you feel like a proper dragon - terrorizing the peasantry and burning their forts but your fiery wrath should be put a more productive use,” Lucretia suggested.

“Oh? And what needs my angry attentions?”

“You have a seat on the Wizengamot.”

“Yes?”

“They ought to have dealt with all the Death Eaters _years_ ago. There are people - shut up in Azkaban _for years-_ that never had a trail!”

“That was a political decision. Both sides fought a guerilla war. The ministry and Dumbledore didn't want their dirty laundry aired in a public trial. I don’t care about politics or nor do I desire the publicity it attracts Lucy.”

“So pull strings from the shadows puppet master, or are you not up to the challenge of burning down castles defended by armoured knights?”

“Good grief! Are you trying to provoke me wife?”

“That I am husband. It worries me that you are intellectually idle. Lately you spend all your time worrying over Fabian and Gideon. You need a challenge to distract you.”

“I need to see some grandchildren before I die!”

“Your bullying is having a detrimental effect on the boys desire to marry and settle down. Trust me to handle this my love. I know how important it is to you.”

Lord Prewett sighed exhaling his anger.

“Thank you Lucretia. The boys are so damned shiftless!” he said despairing. “I thought they would settle down when I bought them that Quidditch team. But that only made it worse! All they do is drink and party and play! I hope a having a family will help but they won’t marry!”

“I’ll do everything in my power to secure your happiness my darling. Leave everything to me.”

The Prewetts stepped out of the bank of French doors along the wall cross the dance floor from the stairs onto the veranda where two dozen people were drinking and laughing.

The wide stone courtyard had no furniture. A few people sat on the stone railing or the stairs that lead down to the garden, where toy size children and adolescents swarmed like ants.

The slow setting sun breathed its last orange red breath on the darkness bleeding from the shadows to stain the world  night. The wind picked up.

Lucretia tucked into Ignatius’ side, winding an arm around his back. Lord Prewett draped an arm across his wife’s shoulders drew her close and kissed the side of her head, then her lips.

The breeze that made her shiver was bracing, not bitterly cold. A invigorating slap like cold shower water that perked up the people sweaty from dancing and tipsy on champagne.

Everyone but the Prewetts and their twin sons hurried back indoors. The two young men were tall and lean with Ignatius’ close cropped ginger curls and long face.

Lord Prewett looked between his twin boys lounging on the rail of the terrace sharing a bottle of champagne without bothering with glasses.

“The house is packed to the rafters with everyone worth knowing in the Western Hemisphere! You two should be networking instead of entertaining Quidditch groupies!”

The young men looked at each other then back at their father.

“Father we own a Quidditch team.”

“Entertaining Quidditch groupies is our actual factual job.”

“You know good and damned well what I mean!” Lord Prewett thundered.

“We anin’t mind readers Dad,” one twin said with irritating patience.

“You gotta use your words,” the other twin encouraged gently.

“Make of them what you will, Lucy. I have had enough!” Lord Prewett declared. “KENT!”

A house-elf appeared.

“Yes Lord Prewett?”

“The cardroom.”

Lord Prewett disappeared and Lady Prewett turned on her  step-sons her eyes snapping with fury.

“Calm down Lucy.”

“We was just teasing!”

“Stop tormenting your father! You worthless wastrel wankers!” Lucretia emphasize each word with a whack of her closed fan.

“Domestic violence is a crime!”

“Help, help we’re being oppressed!”

“Love’s not supposed to hurt!”

“Fuck, we’re sorry!”

“Let up already, we said sorry -”

“Shut it. Both of you,” Lady Prewett hissed pointing her fan threateningly at her stepsons. “Where is that damned Fawley girl? Why isn't she out here teaching you twits how to adult?”

“Shirley’s off to some jungle in Africa to find a white phoenix.”

“A what?”

“It’s her life’s dream to sleep on the ground, wipe her arse with a leaf -”

“Gaze wonderingly at rare birds in their natural habitat.”

“We couldn’t stand in the way of that.”

“Wouldn’t be right considering we are living our dream.”

“Love a duck! You two couldn’t get her pregnant before she buggered off to parts unknown? You’d think with two farmers plowing the field we would have a harvest by now!”

“It’s not as easy as it used to be to get a bun in the oven –“

“These days they’ve got wily ways in the bedroom –“

“Once they start sword swallowing it’s hard to remember you meant to aim for that other hole –“

“After six hours on a broom shouting me-self hoarse –“

“90 minutes of cross training sweating me-self silly-“

“Then a round of management meetings, rifling through paperwork and the like –“

“By the time I climb in sack it’s one and done my son.”

“Didn’t get yours? Better luck tomorrow.”

“But there’s TWO of you for fuck’s sake! Can’t _ONE_ of you get it right?”

“Now don’t get your knickers in a twist Lucy Love-”

“There’s _loads_ of marriageable young people gadding about.”

“It’ll be easy peasy to find another attractive, intelligent, funny, person we both like –“

“Who’s interested in marrying both of us –“

“Having a couple of kids –“

“Living on the road, following our Quidditch team during the season –“

“Not a raging gorgon like cousin Walburga-“

“Or a frigid bitch like cousin Druella –“

“Something like Andromeda without the horsey laugh –“

“Or Narcissa without the stick up the arse -“

“Cross my heart we come across a fertile witch or wizard who flies on a broom like a fish can swim –“

“We’ll bang out a double set of twins, double quick and bob’s your uncle –“

“You’ll be up to your tits in nappies and bottles by next Halloween.”

“I’ve had enough of this nonsense. I’ll find you two tosspots a spouse. You will marry. You will stop living like the Lord Byron on sex holiday. You will start giving your father grey hair!”

“No, don’t put yourself to any trouble -”

“Me and Giddy don’t need any help.”

“Got it sorted. Thanks all the same.”

“It’s to late for that. You’ll spend the rest of your lives being profoundly grateful for my beneficence or so help me I’ll have a baby myself to shut Iggy up. Then you two won’t be the Heirs of the House of Prewett anymore. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes ma’am.” The young men chorused meekly. “Crystal ma’am.”

“Good.” She snatched their bottle of champagne away and flung it over the rail of the terrace. “You are going to help Severus tire those snotty little urchins out so they eat their dinner and are too knackered afterwards to disturb my party or leg it for some place out of bounds.”

“How long we got to babysit the little shits?”

“You stay with him until dinner is called. Then bring Severus up with you. Do _not_ let him slink off to the dungeons.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Kent!”

“Yes Madam?”

“Take these nitwits down to the garden, and bring Regulus back up here. It’s time he started playing with people his own age.”

“Yes Madam.” Kent vanished the Prewett twins and reappeared with a bewildered looking windswept and dirty Regulus A Black-Prince.

“Kent make him," Lucretia Prewett gestured at her disheveled nephew, Regulus Black. "Make this filthy creature presentable, please.”

The house elf snapped his fingers. Regulus' tangled wavy hair was snatched smooth and tied with a ribbon at the base of his neck. His dress robes were mended, polished, heat pressed and perfectly straighten. Regulus' dirt streaked skin was scrubbed to a pink glowingly clean.

“The fuck?” Regulus exclaimed. He jerked and twisted as he was magically manhandled and cleaned by the house elf Kent.

Lucretia slapped both his cheeks with her closed fan. “ _Language_.”

“Ah!”

“I know your parents were rubbish, but surely Kreacher instilled the basics of correct behavior in you?”

“Auntie Lulu, I’m your favorite remember? We don’t abuse the favorite?” Regulus snapped his fingers and one of the servers brought a tray of cocktails over. Regulus took two glasses, he handed one to his aunt.

“Who’s got you so gutted aunt Lucy? Tell me, I’ll scratch their eyes out.”

“Your dim cousins, chased off that dishy ornithologist,” she sighed. Regulus offered her his arm and she tucked her hand in leaning a little on him as they walked.

Regulus hummed sympathetically.

“Now I have to find them a wife or husband that will put up with the naff bastards. Not drop dead from being shagged by two randy rabbits night after night before I get Iggy some healthy grandchildren to bounce on his knee.”

“Is that all? I know just the women for the job.”

“Who?”

“Broomhilda Rolanda Clara von Hooch.”

“Never heard of her.”

“Her maternal father is _Herr Drosselmeyer_.”

“ _The_ Drosselmeyer who does wonderful things with dancing dolls, homunculi and golems?”

“The very same. Severus uses a set of Drosselmeyer’s dancing dolls in his potions lab instead of wizard assistants.”

“Sounds expensive.”

“Worth every galleon. Trade secret, don’t tell.” Regulus pressed a finger to the side of his nose.

“Mum’s the word. Tell me more about her, she sounds promising.”

“Transfer student. Five years ahead of me at Hogwarts. Taught me to fly with and without a broom. Women is an absolute feather."

"Does she play Quidditch?"

"She flew for the German National team as a chaser the year they took the World Cup. MVP player. Still holds the world record for the highest scoring women to ever play professional Quidditch."

"She sounds like a real catch. How is she not married?” Lucretia asked suspiciously. “What's wrong with her?"

"Nothing. The head of her family arranged for her to marry some stuffy old fart twice her age. The day of her handfasting her parents suck a broom in to the sanctuary. She snatched it up and flew out the window. Went all the way from Dusseldorf to Dover on that broom.”

“The more I here, the more I like. Where is she now? What does she do?”

“She can’t play for England because flew with the German National team. She can’t go back to Germany. The dowry bounty is still outstanding. She’s stuck teaching flight at Hogwarts. Barron’s daughter. Practically living in a tool shed with Quidditch gear if you can believe it. I'll introduce her to the twins if you like.”

“Reggie you glorious, fabulous boy,” Lucretia exclaimed. She cupped Regulus face with one hand, and pulled his face down so she could kiss his cheek. Then rubbed the lipstick smudge off his face with her thumb. "How I adore you!"

“This is why I’m your favorite.”

“This is why you're my favorite," Lucretia agreed squeezing her nephew's arm affectionately. "Now come along darling. You must meet people.”

The two walked back into Hexam Hall.

edit 1/3/2018

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading my story. More to come as inspirations strikes.


	5. Chapter 5

To entertain the children and adolescents to young to participate in the dancing portion of the ball, Lady Prewett had her gardeners grow a ten acre field of corn and cut a maze through the tall green gold stalks.

To keep her young guest from getting bored and sneaking into Hexam Hall, Lady Lucretia had her house elves hide toys, candy and silver sickles throughout the labyrinth for them to find.

Since ten acres was a lot of ground for small children to cover charmed hay bales for the little children to ride on like bumper cars. She also left out Fabien and Gideon’s old flying brooms for the teenagers to use if they chose.

To keep the peace Lady Prewett assigned the house-elves Pigott, Rook and Nitty supervised the youngsters.

In the middle of the maze, where all the meandering paths converged in a round field, Lady Prewett put a giant jack-o-lantern for the children to climb on.

To one side of the carved pumpkin was a giant self raking leaf pile for the children splash in. 

On the other size of the pumpkin was a craft table and a snack table. There were miniature pumpkins and gourds to paint and sticker with faces. Corn husks and twin to turn into dolls. Even a bucket filled with water and bobbing apples.

It was all perfectly charming...and deadly dull.

Until Dr. Black Prince made  _ improvements _ .

Kent deposited Fabian and Gideon into an active war zone.

Teenagers in flour sack scarecrow masks swooped through the air like birds of prey snatching up children and flinging them like dirty laundry into the giant jack o lantern. 

The children wearing pumpkin helmets were riding the hay bales to both evade capture and make rescue assaults on the giant pumpkin gobbling up their friends like a grinning orange disembodied cannibal's head.

The scarecrows threw ears of corn that exploded into immobilizing popcorn balls that trapped the pumpkinheads.

The pumpkinheads counter swarmed like ants upon any scarecrow who flew low enough for their feet or legs to be grasped. 

They clubbed the older children they caught senseless with corn stalk clubs. They threw cornstalk spears like angry jungle natives to make the scarecrows lose their balance on the flying broomsticks while dodging the projectiles.

Then the pumpkinheads buried the stunned, bruised scarecrows up to the neck in the ground next to their fellow captives in a field of screaming dirty teenager heads lined up in rows like cabbages. 

“What the  _ hell _ is going on out here,” Fabian asked in amazed horror.

“Dunno? Tot-mosh pit?” Gideon guessed. 

Fabien grinned, then replied in the cheerful spirit of Gideon’s glib answer. 

“Kiddie riot.”

“Brat brawl.”

“Rug-rat uprising to overthrow the oppressive tyranny of teenagers and bring about equality in bedtimes?” Gideon threw back.

“None of the above…”

The twins turned to find a wizard in black clothes lounging like a roman senator upon a comfortable couch of dry autumn leaves. He was a little younger than the Prewett twins with haughty, aristocratic features, dark eyes and long dark hair.

A stack of potions journals stood in a neat column at his elbow. He held quill dripping with poison green ink in one long fingered pale hand and half rolled scroll in the other. 

After glancing at the Prewett twins briefly he returned to his writing, making swift decisive slashes of script across the page without pausing to consider what to write next. 

“Your dear step mother’s  _ artful _ amusements were not keeping the rabble engaged until I introduced an educational-recreation scenario from my son’s playgroup."

"This is educational?" Fabian asked disbelieving. 

"It's a learning game," the dark man explained with careful emphasis as if speaking to simpletons. “ _ Of course  _ it is educational.”

“This is a game?” Gideon asked bewildered.

“It looks like Death Eater attack!”

“That’s rather the point: to train children to properly react to an emergency situation without creating phobias that would paralyze them in an actual crisis.”

"You are creating a worst-case scenario muscle memory...like they do in military boot camp?" 

“This is special forces combat training...but for  _ tykes. _ ”

“Just so.”

“Who are you?”

“ **I** am Dr. Severus Serpens Black-Prince. And you two are?”

“Fabian and Gideon Prewett.”

“Why has no one put a stop to your mad brilliance yet?”

“ _ As if _ they  _ could _ ...as if anyone would even  _ dare try. _ ”

“Do their parents have any idea what you are doing down here in the garden?”

“The parents are busy swilling champagne and swapping gossip. Minding their own children is beneath their pretentious dignity. I, on the other hand, would not trade an hour’s time with my son for all the  _ dubious  _ delights of  _ society _ .”

“One of those angry midgets is yours?” Gideon asked unable to mask his horror at the idea that someone had let the dark wizard Black Prince breed more of his ruthless kind.

“My son, Hero is yonder with the red-haired Weasley girl and the chubby Longbottom boy stuffing young Diggory in the cornstalk cage...The clever little scamp." Fond, parental pride colored Severus’ deep tenor.

“Three against one...that hardly seems fair.” 

"The ends justify the means,” Severus countered. “I should have thought to keep score. That inspired bit of cleverness would  _ certainly _ worth 20 points.”

Severus pulled a camera out of his cloak and snapped several pictures. 

“Priceless...I can't wait to show his father.”

“Aren’t you at all concerned someone will get hurt?”

“Little kids – they’re  _ soft _ and  _ squishy _ .“

“Weren’t you listening?  _ I am a doctor _ and I’ve taken precautions. Those pumpkin helmets and scarecrow masks are charmed to protect their heads and spines. For everything else both sides know to bring the injured party to me.”

“You seem to have all the answers.”

“This is all so very tickety-boo.”

“Budge up. We’ll join you on this lovely leaf sofa.”

“I volunteer to start keeping score -”

“Absolutely not.” Severus waved his wand. Broomsticks appeared at Fabian and Gideon’s feet and a scarecrow masked plopped limply on their heads.

“Your benighted mother stole my scarecrow king, so you’ll have to take his place. I hereby dub you Princes of the Pumpkin Patch: 1 and 2."

A glowing number 1 appeared on the front of Fabian's dress robes. A glowing number 2 appeared on the front of Gideon's dress robes.

"Go defend your kingdom...Best of British to you both.”

“You can’t be serious!”

“Those little monsters look carnivorous and I am a _ very  tender juicy man! _ ”

“Two fully qualified wizards from the Most Ancient and Noble House of Prewett no less,  _ frightened _ by little children?” Severus tutted. “ _ For shame _ .”

“What do you expect us to  _ do _ ?”

“Left my whip and chair at home. Sorry mate.”

“Treat them like garden gnomes. Pluck them up, twirl them over your head and let go in the direction of that over sized jack o lantern. If your aim is a little off, don’t worry. They bounce.”

While Fabian and Gideon absorbed this wisdom with open mouthed shock, Bill and Charlie Weasley landed. Bill had a shrieking, kicking child under his left arm. Charlie was holding his broken wrist close to his chest.

“Watcha Dr. Black-Prince!” Bill cheerfully saluted. “Charlie here took a spill. Broke his wrist.”

“And the brat?”

“My wriggly maggot claims to be  _ dying _ . I only kicked him a little bit. Honest.”

“Approach. You first,” Severus ordered.

Charlie knelt before Severus. Where Severus touched Charlie’s wrist it glowed softly red, then green. 

There was a sound like popping knuckles as the bone straightened out. Charlie flexed his fingers.

“Does it still hurt? Do your fingers tingle? Is it numb at all?” Severus snapped his questions in rapid fire gently probing the mended limb with his finger tips.

“No sir,” Charlie said pleased and surprised. He made a fist and flexed his wrist rotating his hand a few times then swung his whole arm around a few times. 

Even his usually stiff shoulder felt better.

“Flex you whole hand, not just the wrist - is the range of motion restricted?”

“It’s good as new! I've suffered more mending a broken collarbone at school. Thanks Dr. Black-Prince!”

“You’re welcome. Now be on your way boy. You there. Bring me that snotty whiner, then shove off.”

“He’s all yours Dr. Black Prince - watch out! He bites!”  Bill warned.

Draco was unceremoniously dumped at Severus’ feet before the two Weasley brothers mounted their brooms and kicked off the ground to fly after their little brother Ronald.

“I’m not a snotty whiner – that  _ smelly troll _ stomped me to the ground!” Draco accused pointing after the flying Weasley brothers.

“Why are you crying to me?” Severus produced a large handkerchief from thin air then mopped up the snot and tears from Draco’s wet face gently.

“Blow.  _ Blow harder _ . You should have hit him back while he was standing there. Now you’ll just have to go chase him down if you want revenge.”

“Look what he did!” Draco lifted his shirt, turning a little to show Severus a wide bruise covering his ribs and down to his hip.

“That does look painful. Next time a smelly troll comes after you...run, and hex faster,” Severus advised.

“You hex him Uncle Sev! Hex his head on backwards!”

“Your parents named you Draco after your great-great-grandfather Vlad Dracul third son of Maleficent the Great.” 

Severus put his long fingered pale hand on the red splotch straining Draco’s pale skin. 

It glowed bright red then green and slowly receded by back to a healthy color.

“Do you know why Vlad Dracul is famous?”

“He was king of the carpets?”

“Repeat after me: Car-pay-thea.”

“Carpathia.”

“Very good. Vlad is one of only six animagus in all recorded history who could transform into a dragon."

"I know," Draco whined.

"Did you know he fought the entire Turkish army by himself? He saved Carpathia from certain ruin. To this day, Turks dare not speak his name. Now, would your parents have named you after Vlad the Impaler if you needed  **_me_ ** to fight your battles?”

“No...But Uncle Sev I can’t turn into a dragon.”

“Not yet, but you are still a  _ fierce _ little monster aren’t you?”

“I guess so..”

“You guess so? Show me your  _ meanest _ dragon face. Let me hear you  _ roar _ .”

Draco scrunched up his face into his fiercest scowl, clawed his fingers and shrieked his fiercest roar into Severus’ face.

“Very impressive Draco, very impressive.” Draco grinned proudly at the praise.

“Since you can’t yet transform into a dragon you’d best gather some of your playfellows for a little wolf pack action when you seek revenge for your injuries. Remember a single finger is weak -”

“But a fist is mighty,” the little boy finished rolling his eyes. “I know. I know. Father says that all the time.”

“Try applying his advice before you go crying for help. You are all better now. Don’t come back until you break something. I’m healing everything and everyone all at one time just before dinner. Off with you. Go play.”

“Thank you Uncle Sev!” The little Malfoy flung his arms around Dr. Black-Princes neck and hugged him.

“You’re welcome, micro-Malfoy,” Severus replied hugging him back, then pushed him away gently. “Shoo. There is only another hour before dinner and no running allowed in the house.”

Draco scampered off to join Patel twins, Reza, Patek, Iaki and Kesh Shifiq tying their screaming older sister Clea Shifiq and Percy Weasley back to back to a stake in the ground.

After talking to them and gesturing in the direction of the elder Weasley brothers they left their latest victims to hunt larger prey.

Fabian and Gideon looked at each other, then the riot of youngsters waging a pitched battle that included a low fort made from bales of hay with corn cob flinging archers defending the walls.

The flyers had created a crude battering ram from several broomsticks tied together with corn silk.

“What are you gawping at?” Severus demanded, snapping the Prewett twins attention back to him.

“Marshal your troops. Lead them to victory. The scarecrows are not hopeless, Regulus was a rubbish general.”

“Is that so?”

“My fool husband though he could tickle the little hellions into submission, and was bit for his trouble. Tossing them like gnomes,  _ that _ is the way to go.”

“This isn’t quite our cup of tea.”

“It more like a bucket of poison really-“

“And we aren’t the suicidal type.”

Severus raised an extremely judgmental eyebrow.

“Rumor is you two limp weasels are want to be fathers.”

“How do you know that?”

“Who told you?”

“That’s irrelevant. If you can’t coordinate a few approval hungry mildly sadistic teens in a slightly advanced version of tag with that herd of filthy hyper vicious rug-chewers what makes you think you’re fit to be custodians of a helpless baby? Or since twins tend to run in families, an army of helpless babies?”

“Sorry?”

“I don’t quite follow –“

“You did not learn to fly a broom in the middle of a Quidditch match. If you aspire to be competent parents, you two need to go practice your parenting skills on children.”

"Shouldn't we start with a smaller group?"

"Maybe take a class or something?"

"Nonsense! It's like firing a muggle shotgun. Once you get over the noise, the flash and the devastating level of destruction, you'll find the feeling of power quite addictive. You just need to pull the trigger."

“I don’t know if you’re very wise-“

“Or very crazy.”

“Both. I’m the married father of small child. You learn to embrace the chaos. It can not be contained. Now off with you.”

Severus made a twirling motion, then flicked his wand. Fabian and Gideon were spun round and propelled through a wall of the straw castle into the den of the underage enemy.

There was a moment of shocked silence, then howls of outrage as the two men exploded out of the half collapsed fortification. Each had a wriggling child under one arm who they tossed with great accuracy into the great pumpkin.

They floated above their victims laughing and high fiving each other until they were knocked off their broom by a pair boomerang fashioned from corn stalks flung by one of the Weasley twins.

The Weasley Fred and George proceeded to drag their dazed captives across the ground by their legs toward a couple of deep holes in the ground.

There were several other people buried up to the neck screaming for salvation nearby. Severus turned his attention back to his reading. “Imbeciles.”

“Severus, you can’t expect Hufflepuffs to be discerning.”

Severus looked up from Journal of the International Medicinal Elixirs Society to find Lucius Malfoy striding toward him swinging his trademark snake head walking stick.

“Lucius, if you would?” Severus extended his hand and Lucius pulled him up to his feet.

Lucius looked Severus over as the younger wizard shook the leaves out of his long black hair, and straightened his clothes.

In the years since they had last met, Severus had grown into his strong facial features. The nose, high cheekbones and scathing dark eyes that overpowered the face of a thin boy with string bean limbs made Severus an prime example of lithe, exotic masculine beauty - like a darkly alluring prince of Persia.  

Lucius licked his lips. He liked what he saw.

If only Lucius had known there was a black swan inside the greasy haired, crooked toothed, sallow, dirt poor urchin - Lucius would have taken Severus as a second spouse when Narcissa suggested it years ago. 

Alas, hindsight was definitely 20/20.

"I did not expect to see you tonight," Severus said. He vanished his academic journals and notes with a swish of his wand. "Shouldn't you must be hobnobbing with your equals in the manor house?"

The two men stood side by side watching the children play. Lucius was pleased to see Severus would fit neatly beneath his chin - if Lucius could coax the younger man in his arms.

“You wound me Severus,” Lucius placed a hand over his heart in mock despair. “I came down to find you as soon as I heard you were in the garden. I could not wait another moment to be re-acquainted.”

Severus smiled faintly. “Can’t find your latest mistress can you?”

Lucius smiled as well. The beauty of Severus was he had never condemned him when Lucius had regaled him with lurid tales of his sexual escapades years ago.

Then again they had not been together at the time and Lucius had foolishly rejected all of Severus' timid attempts to start a relationship.

“Little minx has vanished into thin air. Everywhere I turn people have seen him, but he’s nowhere to be found...Damn it all.”

Severus raised one perfect eyebrow. “Haven't you always claimed the hunt half the fun?”

“Is that how Regulus explains his escapades to you? Tales of Regulus' philandering are making Casanova's ghost green with envy.”

Lucius looked at Severus sidelong judging his reaction carefully. 

“Now, now you mustn’t pry into the private family affairs of others. Such bourgeois habits are considered rude in polite society are they not?”

“You presume to lecture me on manners Severus? I should stand back and wait for lightning?”

“You have begun subscribing to superstition? Goodness Lucius. Don’t tell me you’ve found religion?” Severus asked in mocking tones.

“There are no atheist in a foxhole,” Lucius replied cryptically.

“I don’t follow.”

“Things have not been very...uncomfortable in England since the end of the last Dark Age. Little more than luck and the stupidity of the Ministry has kept me out of Azkaban.”

“You should have immigrated to America when I did. But no. You knew better than **I** about mastering destiny.”

“Fine, Severus. You were right and I was wrong. There. I've admitted it. Do you feel vindicated?” Lucius asked testily.

“I don’t feed my vanity with the humiliation of lesser men. Nor do I have any pity to spare. What do you want Lucius?”

“I noticed Regulus’ arms are unmarked.”

“Yes. What of it?”

Lucius looked around surreptitiously then asked in a low voice. “Is the dark mark hidden?”

“Removed.”

“Removed? How is that possible?”

“I can bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can bottle fame, brew glory - even put a stopper in death...As you know from personal experience -"

"But the Dark Mark -"

"Was barely a challenge. The Dark Mark is a brand not a curse scar.”

“ **How** ?” Lucius demanded urgently.

“You don’t really expect me to tell you my trade secrets? Surely you are not  _ that blonde _ ?”

“My, my, how the meek have risen. There was a time when you would tremble  when I so much as  _ glanced _ at you. **I** was gracious. **I** was merciful.  **Now** you dare spurn me?” Lucius asked angrily.

“Your manner of petitioning favors leaves a great deal to be desired. I imagine that is why you can not locate your latest conquest.”

“A little gold and a new bag of tricks has made you very bold, indeed Snape. Lest you forget the muddy puddle Narcissa plucked you from let me remind you -”

“Black-Prince actually."

“I think after all these years I know your name.”

"I have reconciled with mother’s family. Grandfather Stavross has planned a masked ball at his Vienna winter palace. Personally I could have happily done without it, but Regulus insists. He is as much a peacock as you are.”

Lucius was brought up short.

There was only one man in the world named Stavros who had a winter palace in Vienna, Austria. 

There was a leaden pause. Lucius locked eyes with the Severus while he digested the revelation that a prince of the blood had been right under his nose for years. 

When Lucius' father found out there would be hell to pay for this oversight.

Lucius refused to show his surprise at the revelation, he chose instead to change his approach.

“Should I be flattered you married a man who reminds you of me?” Lucius asked smoothly stepping closer, into Severus personal space.

“Only if I am flattered your son is named Draco.”

Narcissa had named their son Draco, and Lucius thanked the powers for his wife's foresight. He might yet salvage the situation.

“He would be your son if you had given yourself to me  _ mon Draach _ -”

A lie.

Even in his besotted youth, Severus had refused to commit his body to a relationship that did not lead directly to matrimony and Lucius had only wanted Severus as an audience to his bravado and a potions maker for Voldemort.

“We are better off friends," Severus said amused. "Narcissa is a very accommodating women. Whereas I have an unfortunate tendency to be vicious with very little provocation.”

“Regulus seems safe enough.”

“My husband and I have an understanding that is none of your concern.”

“Not my concern? You wound me Severus. Your husband and my wife are first cousins. We are family, and the bonds of family are the most important of all. Especially in these troubled times.”

“I’m touched you assume I treasure our...connection...so much you can use it to manipulate me...Haven’t changed a bit have you Lucius?”

“You wouldn’t like it if I did..”

Lucius took Severus’ hand. He kissed first the back of Severus’ gloved hand, then turned it over and kissed the sliver of skin exposed between the end of his sleeve and the edge of his glove where the potion's master's pulse throbbed.

“You have always been a curious creature Severus and I  _ fascinate _ you.”

Severus pulled free of Lucius’ grasp and wiped his hand on his side to remove the sensation of the blonde’s lips.

“Even with imprisonment, disgrace and poverty hunting your heels like the hounds of hell you still have time to attempt to be seductive?”

“Stop being coy  _ mon Draach _ ," Lucius purred, leaning toward Severus.

Lucius brushed the long silky black hair off Severus' shoulder to whisper directly into the potions master's ear. 

"I know you want to help me. I want you to help me. Give in - do what you truly desire to do. I am at your  _ mercy. _ ”

“Is that what you think?” Severus asked gently nudging Lucius away with his elbow without looking at him, as if the taller blonde were an annoying child. “I came here tonight for  _ your _ sake?”

“If you didn’t want to help me Severus you would never have returned to England and allowed Regulus to display his bare arms publicly. You wanted me to come to you...and now I have come. I am waiting...for you to act.”

“What I do, is for Draco’s sake. It would not be good for Draco emotional development if you were languishing in Azkaban during his formative years. There will be a price.”

“I expected no less.”

“Regulus will speak to you about...terms. Afterwards there will be no need to be discrete. I have found satisfied clients are the best form of advertisement.”

“Is that your game? Save our old friends from the Dementor’s Kiss and then take up the mantle of Dark Lord yourself?”

“They are  _ your friends _ , never mine. I’ve much more interesting things to do than entangle myself in political stupidity. Regulus on the other hand has...ambitions.”

“Such as?”

“You would do better discussing Regulus' plans with Regulus. He cares deeply about things I find utterly inconsequential.”

Kent the house elf appeared before the two wizards. “Lady Prewett is to commence dinner in fifteen minutes. The children is to be escorted back to the house now.”

“Inform Lady Prewett we will be up as soon as the children are rendered presentable again.”

“As you wish sir.” The house elf vanished from Severus and Lucius sight. Kent must have communicated Lucretia Prewett’s will to the other servants of Hexam Hall because Pigott,Rook and Nitty materialized.

The short flop eared creatures untied captives, unearthed the buried, separated the fighters, un-broomed the fliers, then gently herded the children and teens by family into a double line. 

Once the children were organized for Severus to treat Pigott, Nitty and Rook began restoring Hexam’s gardens.

“If you would repair the clothes while I mend the flesh this will go much quicker,” Severus said to Lucius.

“You are surrounded by Prewett house elves why should I play the tailor? It’s beneath my dignity.”

“Consider helping these children part of your payment for the service I will render you.”

“You may have the advantage now, but be careful how you exploit it. I am not your pet.”

Snake strike fast Severus’ hand snapped out. The brunette grasped the taller blonde by his throat with one large, vice like hand, choking him silent and pulling Lucius’ ear down to Severus’ lips.

To the children, with Lucius long hair acting as a curtain, and Severus’ back turned toward them, it looked as though the men were whispering together.

“You are an greedy idiot who pledged allegiance to a crazy conman. Narcissa and Draco are social outcast because of  _ your _ mistakes,” Severus hissed. “For their sakes I will help you, but do NOT test my patience.”

Severus released Lucius and they stepped away from each other a pace. Lucius stroked his neck, and regarded Severus warily like a cobra he had suddenly uncovered in his bed.

“You will help these children. They will run to their parents extolling your alleged virtues. That will help your reputation. Your good reputation will benefit your family. You will do this cheerfully or you will regret it.”

Severus turned his back on Lucius to tend to his first patients: Draco Malfoy, and his son Hero supporting the weight of Neville Longbottom between them and Ronald Weasley standing beside them.

“Daddy! These is my best-est friends,” Hero announced to his father. “I made other friends, but these are the best.”

“Are they now? What are your new friend’s names may I ask?” Severus knelt down so that he was eye level with the trio of young boys.

“This Ron. He’s got lots of brothers and a little sister,” Hero told Severus jerking his thumb in Ron’s direction.

“Hero said you’re a doctor, do you work at St. Mungos?” Ron Weasley asked Severus.

“No, I have a private practice and admitting privileges at the Knickerbocker Hospital and Arkham Asylum in Gotham, New York." 

When the children looked at him blankly.

Severus clarified, "That is in North America.”

“Is that’s really far, far away?”

“I told you about New York Ron,” Hero sighed impatiently. " _ Remember? _ That's where I live!"

“What’s admitting privileges?” Neville asked.

“Means my Daddy can work at that hospital,” Hero told him.

"Aren't doctors supposed to work at the hospital?" Neville asked bewildered.

"What is your name?" Severus countered.

"Neville, Neville Longbottom.” 

“Neville, doctors need permission to work at a hospital, just as you need permission to play at someone else's’ house,” Severus explained.

“Ooohh.”

“Now. What brings you to my open air clinic Neville?”

“My ankle hurts,” he sniffled sticking his foot out to show Severus. “It hurts really, a lot."

Severus produced another clean handkerchief from his sleeve and wiped gently Neville’s face clean of tears.

“I told him not to cry ‘cause you’d fix it for him fast as lighting!” Hero bragged.

“Hero is quite right. There is no need for tears.” 

Severus cupped Neville Longbottom's slightly swollen ankle between his two large hands, his palms glowed faintly red then green.

“Doctors don't work at just any hospital, just like teachers don't wander from school to school, but stay in one place most of the time. Feel better now?”

“Yes thank you Dr. Hero’s Daddy.” 

Neville jumped up and down delighted to be fully mobile again.

“You’re welcome.”

“My parents live at hospital, maybe you’ll see them sometime and you could fix them like you fixed my ankle?” Neville asked hopefully.

Before Severus could answer Neville, Draco put in tactlessly,” that would be great! Then Neville wouldn’t have to stay with his mean old Nan.  She yells and smells like mothballs just like Auntie Walla! But with a ugly hat on top!”

Ron and Hero and Draco cracked up in giggles at Draco’s comic genius. Neville went pale with fright.

“Please don’t tell Nan I said that. She’ll be ever so cross, and uncle will box my ears!”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Severus promised the little boy seriously. “Doctor’s aren’t allowed to tell their patient's secrets. That is against the rules.”

“Really?” Neville asked hopefully. “You won’t tell?”

“Of course I won’t tell.” Finished with the Draco bruises Severus moved on to running his wand over Ron’s skinned knees, then Hero scrapes and bruises. 

His son squirmed while Severus worked.

“Do be still. You are my child not a worm on a hook.”

“But it tickles! You always make it tickle! So I have to do the tickle dance! That’s Draco. His name means dragon like my name means snake. We’re little monsters, aren’t we Daddy?”

“You’re my favorite little monster.” Severus kissed his son’s forehead fondly then sent the child on to Lucius care with a gentle push and a ruffling of is already disordered hair.

“And the scariest thing I have ever found under my bed," Severus  said quietly as he attended his next set of patients - the rest of the Weasley family.

Before Lucius could ponder about Severus had muttered Draco was speaking, demanding attention introducing him to Neville Longbottom and Ronald Weasley.

“Uncle Sev knows me Hero, he’s being silly.” Draco, told Hero when he joined Ron and Neville standing in front of Lucius having their ragged party clothes returned to a clean, pressed, pristine condition.

“How come you know my daddy and we never saw each other before to day? We could have been friends forever by now!”

Hero’s question was an accusation. As if Severus had underhandedly denied him a treat to which Hero was entitled.

“Father sent Uncle Sev and Uncle Reggie my picture. Your picture hangs in the hall next to Auntie Trix.” Draco looked up at his sire to have his story confirmed. “Isn’t that right father?”

“You are correct Draco.” Lucius confirmed. "We have looked forward to meeting you in person for a long time Hero."

He looked Hero over carefully. Except for the eyes his parentage was obvious. Even with Regulus' input it was surprising that Severus could produce such an adorable little boy given that he himself had been a remarkably ugly child.

“When you come to visit us at the manor Hero, Draco can show you the gallery where your family portrait hangs with the rest of our kith and kin.”

“Draco said you have a dragon. Do you really?” Neville asked Lucius timidly.

“We have a three headed dragon skeleton suspended from the ceiling of the trophy room,” Lucius confirmed. “My great-great grandfather father killed it.”

“If grandmother says it’s okay can I come see it with Hero too?” the pudgy little boy asked hopefully.

“I wanna go!” Ron added bouncing up. "I’ve never seen a real dragon before, except in Charlie's books.”

Lucius glanced at Severus surprised a Longbottom and Weasley child would be eager to spend time with a Malfoy of any age for any reason particularly at Malfoy Manor.

Severus raised an eyebrow at Lucius before turning his attention back to his patients. He finishing with the Weasley twins and swiftly moved to heal the  two black eyes protruding like a plums from the face of Oliver Wood.   

Lucius regarded Neville Longbottom and Ronald Weasley thoughtfully.

Well, they were pureblood children.

“If your parents consent I’d be... _ delighted _ to entertain you as well, when Herodotus visits Malfoy Manor.”

The four boys burst into a joyous victory dance that involved a lot of jumping up and down and shouting plans for their next adventure together.

“Can I come too?” asked the small Weasley girl.

Lucius looked to Severus for further direction, but the doctor was up to his elbows in bruises, cuts, scrapes, snot and tears. 

The older Weasley boys were watching Lucius carefully, wands out, arms loose and ready at their sides.

Arthur Weasley was a wet blanket on a good day, but clearly his sons had a healthy dose of Molly’s Prewett fighting spirit in their blood.

He repressed his first instinct remembering Severus words. Instead he smiled charmingly down at the little red head. “If your parents consent, Draco and I would love to have you all to tea one afternoon.”

“I get to wear my party dress again!” Ginny squealed in delight. Lucius dutifully tried to clean her up, but while he was able press the dress, and banish the dirt he could not make it less bedraggled, patched and faded.

In Lucius’ opinion Arthur Weasley should kill himself immediately. The Weasley family would be better provided for living off charity. Arthur Weasley was poor excuse for a man, and a disgrace of a wizard.

If Arthur had had the decency to die young, Molly could have married out of poverty. Molly was a great beauty in her youth, now she looked like a hard living barmaid. 

“You can hang it up Mr. Malfoy,” one of the twins said ruefully as Lucius tried to mend his tattered dress robes.

“Our clothes are beyond the hope of magic,” the other twin finished.

“They’ve been repaired to many times.”

Despite Lucius best efforts the Weasley children looked like Monday morning after a three day New Year’s bender in Las Vegas.

“If we go in, looking like this, Mum’s gonna kill us,” Percy moaned.

“Buck-up Percy. At least we’ll die together,” Charlie consoled his younger brother slapping him on the back.

Following Lucius’ example the Prewett twins had pitched in with restoring the rest of the youngsters to presentable tidiness. They started at the back of Severus’ line and worked forward.

Seeing how lovely the other girl’s clothes looked it suddenly occurred to little Ginny Weasley that she looked an absolute fright. It had not mattered when they were all dirty and playing, but now she felt embarrassed by how poor her dress looked in comparison.

“My pretty princess party dress is all messed up! I can’t go to the ball!” The little girl began to sob loudly.

Neville and Hero edged away from Ginny. Neville’s grandmother never cried. Hero came from an all male household. Neither boy had the first idea of what to do with a tearful little girl.

Draco was the son of Narcissa Malfoy nee Black. Thanks to his mother's family, Draco had more than his fair share of Black relatives prone to loud hysterics.

“You won’t get in trouble,” Draco assure the sobbing girl hugging her without any concern for his freshly cleaned clothes.

“Father keeps extra clothes in his pocket in case of accidents.He’s got extra suits too, so your brothers won’t get in trouble either. Father can fix it. He can fix everything.”

“He has a pretty party dress in his pocket?” Ginny asked hiccuping. She wiped her snotty nose and eyes on Draco’s shoulder. “A dress for me?”

“I think it’s green, isn’t it green father?” Draco looked up at Lucius, not at all alarmed he was being used as a handkerchief. “Don’t cry no more. You’re too pretty for tears.”

Draco rubbed Ginny’s back in an imitation of Lucius method for calming Narcissa.

Lucius did indeed have a spare wardrobe in his pocket. Contrary to what many assumed, the Malfoys were very hands on parents. Baby Draco had a habit of marking his parental territory with bodily fluids. Even now Draco seemed unusually prone to spilling things.

When Draco said 'Don’t cry, you’re too pretty for tears' he obliterated Lucius’ resistance to helping the Weasley children. It was one of the many platitudes Lucius used to tame the temperamental tigress he had married and the many others he occasionally loved.

To see his son calm a hysterical female with aplomb worthy of a Malfoy thrice his age brought tears of pride to Lucius’ steel blue eyes. Lucius’ little boy was becoming a man. Soon Draco would pluck his first virgin. Then Draco would take an rival’s wife as his mistress.

Before Lucius knew it, Draco would be a father with a family of his own, and Lucius would be making wine in France. Blinking back tears Lucius dug out miniaturized clothes from the inner pocket of his dress robes with fumbling hands.

“I trust you know how to resize those garments?” Lucius asked gruffly. He dumped the the double hand full of doll size clothes into the hands of the Weasley twins who looked as shocked as if Lucius had handed them a flaming phoenix egg.

“Mr. Malfoy we can’t accept these,” Bill began.

“Nonsense, your Uncle Ignatius is my father’s oldest friend. In addition we are related by blood and marriage. If family does not look out for each other who will?”

“Thank you?” Percy said confusedly, looking from Lucius, to Charlie and Bill.

“You’re welcome,” Lucius replied.

Ginny squealed delightedly when she fished a green velvet, seed pearl studded, ball gown with a cascade of ruffles worthy of a couture hoarding queen out of the clothes in her brother’s hands.

Clutching her new treasure to her chest, Ginny turned and kissed Draco on his pale cheek. Draco blushed scarlet as Ginny’s hair. Neville and Hero sniggered.

“Thank you Draco, you’re my prince.”

Draco mumbled something that could have been ‘you’re welcome’ or ‘hell comb’ then hurried to hide behind his father’s legs. Lucius patted his son’s blonde head. He had his little boy for a few more years after all.

“Come along Neville, Draco, Hero - I’m sure your friends would prefer to change clothes in private. You can cast a concealment charm?” Lucius directed the question to the eldest boys Bill and Charlie.

“Yes sir,” Charlie answered.

“Good.”

“Thank you sir,” Bill added gratefully.

Lucius nodded to the young man, but said nothing in return. It felt very odd to be sincerely thanked by someone.

Lucius used his cane like a shepherd’s stick to herd Hero, Draco and Neville up the gravel garden path. 

They followed the straggling crowd of young people freshly cleaned by Fabian and Gideon and healed by Severus trooping back up to the stone steps of the terrace that overlooked the garden in the back of of Hexam Hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come as inspiration strikes.


	6. Chapter 6

 

Lucius used his height, his snake head cane, and his ice cold glare to safely usher the three boys in his care across the terrace crowded with teenagers, eager to join the adults dancing in the mansion, through the french doors and into the ballroom. 

Lucius was scanning the crowd for Augusta Longbottom, so he could hand off Neville, when his party was scattered like kicked chickens when a little girl rudely dashed through their group. She had a mane of white blonde hair trailing behind her like a banner, and wore a dress like a pink mop tied with black ribbon at the waist.

“Daddy!” she squealed flinging herself at a blonde man crouched to catch her in his open arms. Her father wore pink and black striped dress robes with a matching floppy tasseled hat.

“I’ve had such fun in the garden! I’m so glad we came! I’ve made ever so many friends! The Weasleys are here and Cedric Diggory - and, and we-”

“That’s wonderful darling. I’ll be pleased to hear all about it -  _after_ you apologize for bumping into these gentlemen. That was quite rude.”

The father stood up and propped his daughter on his hip with practiced ease.

He turned to Lucius and the boys, “Please excuse us Mr...Luc? _Good gracious!_ You look just like father!”

“Nino. I am surprised to see you here. Isn’t this gathering too  _mainstream_  to suit your taste? Isn't there a convention of Grumkin hunters you should be attending?”

“It's snark season. Besides Pandora likes to come to the Hexam Ball,” Xenophilius Lovegood replied with a dismissive shrug. “I don’t think He-who-must-not-be-named is really dead and gone. It’s not safe for my girls to be out at night without me.”

“Daddy who is this?” the little girl asked.

“Don’t point sweetie that’s rude. This is my little brother. Your uncle, Lucius Malfoy. Ah, this must be Draco. My, my you do have your mother’s eyes, but the Malfoy everything else. I see Narcissa is still very much in love you with you Lucius. Good on you old boy. Good on you,” Nino said lightly punching Lucius arm.

“You are my uncle?” Draco gaped at his strangely dressed uncle.

He could not have been more surprised to find out he was related to a banana.

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Draco. I’m Xenophilius Lovegood. You can call me Uncle Nino.”

“Can I call him Uncle Lulu?”

“Absolutely NOT!” Lucius snapped indignant.

“But you look like a Lulu -” Luna pouted crossing her arms over her chest and putting out her bottom lip.

“Why do you get a brother and I don’t?” Draco adopted an expression identical to Luna’s, and stomped his foot for good measure. “I want a brother!”

“Draco!”

“It’s not fair! You’ve got a brother! Shouldn’t I have a brother too?”

“Brothers,” Xenophilius corrected absently. “There’s also Sicarius - we call him Silva - he is the eldest. Father disowned him after mother died of pox. It wasn’t his fault, no one can help being a squib, but father couldn’t forgive his heir being anything but perfect. He disowned me for taking your Aunt Pandora’s last name-”

“I’ll thank you not to reveal more of our family history than I want my son to know at this time!”

“Don’t be testy, Luc. Hiding the truth does not make it less _true_.”

“Truth is a malleable commodity with a limited shelf life and a value fixed by whomever happens to be selling it. Facts are solid. It is a **fact** that Draco has an excellent relationship with father. I’ll thank you not to jeopardize that with your irrelevant _truths_.”

“The fact is, there are a lot of people who want to see the color of your blood Luc. Brutus sharpening his knife as we speak. I want to help you avoid the Ides of March, Cesar."

"If you wanted to help, you should have stood with your family when we needed you instead of running off with that marsh dwelling ditch witch!"

"Don't mistake my desire to help you with permission to insult my wife or child. Do I need to remind you I was a Malfoy before I was a Lovegood? No? I thought not. wrote to Regulus Black on your behalf, don't blow me off! He can help you, Lucius. Please, please let him help you Lucius. I love you, I don't want to see you put away!”

“May I have this dance?”

Lucius turned away from his brother, and speak of the Devil ...There was Regulus Arcturus Black-Prince, long lost scion of the Most Noble House of Black.

Like all Black men Regulus was like a spanish conquistador escaped from a painting of the romanticized past made flesh:olive skinned, tall, broad shoulders, thick legs - yet his green velvet formal robes in a daring french cut made him look almost delicately effete. Almost.

A waterfall of frothy white lace cascaded from his throat in place of a cravat or bowtie; held in place by a gaudy octagonal locket - a glittering green snake suspended in beer golden amber- on a thin gold chain.

The coat embroidered with silver thread, and cut slim across his shoulders and chest, but flowed from the hip in a a-line skirt, accentuating Regulus’ narrow waist and fine legs in indecently tight silver satin pants.

Regulus bowed graciously, one leg extended forward, a one hand across his stomach and the other extended palm up toward Lucius. As if the Lord Malfoy were a simpering chit with a dance card and chaperon. The bell sleeves of robe ended just below the elbow, exposing his unmarked forearm to Lucius' curious eyes.

Regulus grinned up at Lucius through the thin veil of dark curls that had escaped the satin ribbon holding back most of his long wavy hair.

Regulus’ expression was like Sirius’ at the heights of his devil-may-care best: a smile that was meant to taunt and charm in equal measure.

Lucius grit his teeth. A song had just ended and half the room seemed to be openly watching Regulus mock Lucius’ masculinity. The rest were more subtle but no less interested to see how Lucius would handle Regulus’ impertinence.

Ever the predator, chose to attack rather than retreat. Lucius genuflected just as deeply as Regulus. The Lord Malfoy took up the Black-Prince’s hand and kissed first his knuckles, then his inner wrist.

“I would be honored,” Lucius purred darkly before standing tall, taking Regulus hand and drawing the man flush against his body, pinning him with his other hand at small of Regulus’ back.

Taking an almost lunging step forward, Lucius hip thrust the younger man though the terrace doors onto the dance floor and into a sultry tango. Regulus let Lucius take the lead and bodily drive him into the thick of the crowded dance floor.

“The three musketeers are excellent swordsmen, you shouldn’t steal their clothes.”

“This is straight from the catwalks of Paris. Much more the thing than your tired black on black assemble. Lighten up Luc, life’s too short to wear boring clothes.”

“Everywhere I turned tonight tales of your philandering lingered in conversation like an alley whore’s cheap perfume on lap of a drunk. This ostentatious spectacle is not your usual style. What are you playing at Regulus?” Lucius demanded in a whisper, his mouth close to Regulus’ ear. “Why are you involving me?”

“Haven’t you heard? All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. This is our stage Lucius. The curtain’s risen on act one of our play. Can you feel it? The hot spotlight of everyone’s attention firmly on us? Now we plunge into the central conflict of our drama: true love vs true lust. Duty vs passion.”

“Never mind that I find you more repulsive than your knuckle dragging mouth breathing brother Sirius. I’m married to your first cousin! I would never be so crass as to fuck a family member!”

“Such a conflicted, contradictory, conceited prick aren’t you Malfoy? You’d lick Voldemort’s mucky boots for a pat on the head, but you won’t suck my dick to get that mark off your arm? Your mind is more twisted than an orgy of tapeworms. If you weren’t family I wouldn’t bother with you at all.”

Regulus turned in Lucius arms. He pressed his back against Lucius chest; got his hand up into Lucius’ hair, and drew the blonde’s face down to the hollow of his arched throat.

“Everyone here knows how faithless you are to Narcissa. Look around. You’ve already been tried and convicted for incest and infidelity in the court of public opinion. After this exhibition, everyone in England will be believe you convinced me to drag my husband and child clean across the pond for the express purpose of sucking your cock.”

Lucius looked up from the sweaty curve of Regulus’ neck. Around them a space in the crowd had opened, as the other dancers openly watched them move like oiled snakes, shamelessly coiling around each other in a private world of passion.

“You think Severus will put up with being publicly cuckold? The boy I knew could not stand to be corrected even when he was wrong.”

“The boy you knew grew up and became the man I married. Believe me Lucius, you couldn’t steal my husband if you had the Pied Piper’s pipes, plus the help of Ali Baba and his forty thieves. He is mine. I am his. We are indivisible.”

“If you feel so strongly about your marriage, what is the point of making everyone believe we’re having an affair?”

“People love a good story. Every story needs a hero and a villain. Good heroes need flaws so that the public loves rather than envies them. Look at Dumbledore with his deplorable fashion sense and lack of family. The old lion has had endless honors heaped on his head: Grand Sorcerer, Supreme Mugwump, Chief Warlock, Headmaster of Hogwarts - Grindelwald isn’t even dead and we both know Dumbledore never fought Voldemort one on one.”

The two men danced cheek to cheek, chest to chest, hip to hip. Regulus hooked his right leg around Lucius waist. Regulus let the blonde bear his weight as arched back gracefully. Lucius french dipped Regulus so low, his hair pooled on the floor.

Lucius pulled Regulus up, spun him round twice in the circle of his arms before drawing him flush against his body again. The two men’s quick flicking steps between each other’s feet as they moved faster and faster twisting and turning around each other were flawless.

“Sirius is in love with his reflection and you are in love with the sound of your own voice. The only reason I’d ever have sex with you Regulus would be to put something in your mouth and shut you up. Why are you boring me your tedious theories? Is there a point to this pointless charade?”

“Fine, kill the conversation you fucking philistine,” Regulus huffed. “If everyone thinks we are screwing around, they won’t think we are quietly conspiring to reorder society. I can’t be seen openly associating with all our old comrades, just yet. You on the other hand have more social latitude.”

“I gather followers, then you grant me special favor when you ascend to lordship? Haven't I heard that exclusive limited time offer once before somewhere? Fuck that and fuck you Regulus Black.”

“You just said that was off the table! Make up your mind! ...Seriously, I am thinking more along the lines of a proper coven, a Circle of Superior Equals, like we had at school. The epic failures of Grindelwald and Voldemort have made the failings of pyramid scheme power dynamics abundantly clear. ”

“You want to resurrect the Knights of Walpurgis? Why?”

“Between the spineless ministry chasing its tail and the general ignorance prevailing public opinion regarding the dark arts we have never been so vulnerable. England is the last frontier that does not have an entrenched, powerful shadow army. It is only a matter of time before we are invaded.”

“That's absurd! There has not been a magical war since the Statue of Secrets was instituted!”

“Samhain is strong in Ireland. The Skulls have Germany to Russia. The Illuminati rule France and middle Europe. The whole Mediterranean rim from Gibraltar to Turkey south to the edge of the Sahara Desert answers to the Empire of the Immortal Courts.”

“You haven’t told me anything I don’t already know. We are secure from the aggression of continental Europe's expansionist ambitions. The geo-fort underpinning Stonehenge alone would be enough to make France an island off the coast of Germany, not to mention what Ashbury could do if activated.”

“Have you heard about the proposed European Union?”

“Some nonsense the muggle government has contrived to make the combined economies of Europe and England as large as the American economy? What of it?”

“According to the Statute of Secrets muggle law supersedes magical law in all matters not exclusively pertaining to magic. The proposed Union of European States will create a zone of free travel between member countries. Effectively nullifying all the geo-fort wards in the United Kingdom and Europe.”

“When the wards come down the other countries will be just as vulnerable!”

“Despite lip service to the contrary, England is the only place on earth that enforces the laws prohibiting Dark Arts instruction. A war on the continent would end in a sea of molten glass. They have private militias, some with four generations living, openly operating in their civil defense forces. We have Aurors.”

“Since Dumbledore’s rise, dark wizards have been segregated, vilified and marginalized. I had word this morning the Ministry is going to start holding public trials of all the suspected Death Eaters they’ve locked up. It is only a matter of time before every witch or wizard who could defend England is dead or gone.”

“As Voldemort’s Right Hand of Darkness you know not all Death Eaters were superior equals. We should let the Ministry winnow the chaff from the wheat for us. The weak would turn on us eventually and the mad will fail us in a crisis. It’s best they are eliminated quickly... without the blood staining our hands.”

“How...convenient we can’t rescue them all… I suppose the life debt from those we do deliver from the Dementor’s Kiss and the unit cohesion derived from the threat of both Ministry sanctioned execution and the invasion of foreign powers is an added bonus...You’ll be the golden savior of the next age to come.”

“In this story I am the adulterous villain. You are the hero, Lucius. You will hand pick the lucky souls who will escape the Ministry’s justice with life and fortune intact. Through you will they arrange the removal of the dark mark. You are the savior. You are the leader. You are the First Among Equals. Not me, never me.”

“Why would you give me so much power and influence?”

“I’m not giving you anything. It will be difficult to persuade people to come to the table, especially after the epic failures of Voldemort and Grindelwald have jaded them. I’m much too pretty to work that hard, and you’ll work damned hard for whatever power or influence you manage to muster.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“Trust be damned. Too much trust and you end up with a capricious Dark Lord marking you like livestock, hexing you like a bond slave and draining your magic to make himself stronger. Trust is detrimental to our long term survival. I aim for the cooperation of like minded pragmatist not the mindless loyalty of fools.”

“What about Severus?”

“What about him?”

“What will he be doing besides removing dark marks and watching me carry on a very public romance with his husband?”

“There are only four things in this world Severus wants: two he has, one I have and one is beyond the reach of mortal man’s wisdom. If England burns, Severus will roast marshmallows in the flames. This is my project. Severus has….other interests, and I don’t bore him with details.”

“Will he remove the dark mark tonight?”

“Absolutely. First you must fetch your wife, Gamp, Rosier and their wives. Meet Severus and I at the front gates as soon as dinner is over and everyone is leaving. Tell them nothing.”

“Why do you need Gamp, Rosier and our wives? Why can't I tell them anything? They are just as interested in getting this mark off their skin as I am.”

“It's a test silly. Gamp and Rosier bitterly despise and distrust you. If you can persuade them to follow you on such short notice, then you are the man I need for this enterprise. If not...well there’s always Rabastan Lestrange.”

“Rabastian has the personal magnetism of a toothless flatulent midget leper with a lazy eye.”

“True. However his long term lover is a well connected, charming man of good family and a dear personal friend of mine. Plus Rabastan doesn’t want to seduce my husband. Those are two significant points in his favor as far as I’m concerned. Now, run along Lucius. The clock’s ticking.”

The music ended as if cued by Regulus. He spun out of Lucius arms with a flourish of robes and the two men bowed graciously to each other while the spectators who stood back and watched them showered them with thunderous applause.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am intentionally vague on people's ages and actual dates because I am lazy, but it is a fact that in 1993 the Single Market (of the EU) was completed with the 'four freedoms' of: movement of goods, services, people and money. Thank you for reading my story. I appreciate the kudos and comments.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Lady Narcissa Malfoy nee Black was the kind of aloof, chiseled featured women usually found to right hand of thrones, poising to be immortalized in stone or starting a wars with a well placed, wholly unexpected warm smile.

Lucius showered her with baubles, but she never wore jewelry. She did not need to. From the day she turned sixteen, Narcissa had always been the center of attention in any room she graced. A truly flawless beauty, envied, admired and coveted like a blue diamond the size of a apple.

Unlike most women of her social standing, Narcissa Malfoy had wanted to marry her husband, he was her equal in every way, and she truly loved her him. 

Given his reputation before they married, Narcissa had expected and not minded his frequent dalliances. Frankly Narcissa was relieved to occasionally be rid of her husband, she had better things to do with her time than constantly attend to Lucius’ penis like it was a second needy child.

Narcissa thought she and Lucius had a solid, fully supportive, affectionate, respectful, equal partnership built on a affection for Draco, and their shared interests in dark magic, creating generational wealth and expanding their social influence.

Watching Lucius Malfoy and her cousin Regulus Black make an obscene spectacle of themselves in the middle of the Hexam Hall Ballroom was more than a mere blow to her feminine pride; it was a clarion war trumpet rousing all her Blackest instincts. 

She did not know the man she had married, and he damn sure did not know her if he thought he was going to get away with this blatant disrespect.

Clearly Narcissa had made a grievous error in forgiving Lucius his misstep with Voldemort without reservation. She had considered Voldemort’s movement a useful cover for efficiently eliminating certain obstacles, like Vaniel Spink who believed in vigorous enforcement of the tax laws. 

However Narcissa had wisely objected to Lucius taking the dark mark. Her husband disregarded her advice.

Having escaped his blunder without catastrophic personal or legal consequences the blonde bastard seemed to think he held Narcissa so securely in the palm of his hand, she would allow herself to be openly involved in one of his trifling little intrigues. 

With her little cousin no less.

Druella Black nee Rosier, Narcissa's mother, the elegant society matron of undefinable age, unnatural grace, and the unflappable temperament of an ice demon stalking prey glided to her youngest daughter’s side. 

“Take that man to task in a manner I would approve of, or I will have a pair of house slippers made from his testicles.” Druella took Narcissa’ elbow and turned her away from her husband’s antics. 

After being redirected by her mother, Narcissa could see her son, Draco, standing next to his uncle Xenophilius Lovegood watching Lucius’ antics with Regulus with wide eyed confusion. Even her darling little boy could see Lucius was way over the line.

“Go child, your son needs his mother, and you need the comfort of your son.” Druella gave her youngest a little shove in the right direction. “You have fifteen minutes to compose yourself, before Lucretia calls for dinner seating. Be flawless tonight. Give no hint or warning. Serve the dish cold, child. Like a taught you.” 

With everyone’s attention on Lucius and Regulus, Narcissa able to blend into the crowd and melt away unnoticed for the first time that she could remember. Narcissa was making her way to where she could see Draco holding one of Xenophilius hand when she was brought up short.

The entire Weasley quidditch team of children trooped past her in clothes she recognized - especially the custom couture pearl studded green velvet frock worn by the skipping little ginger girl. 

Lucius had literally given the clothes off his back - and out her closet - to a pack of gruby WEASLEYS. 

Narcissa felt faint. Either her husband had gone completely mad in the course of one evening or this was the opening move in a domestic upheaval she had never seen coming. 

Divorce. Impossible. Their marriage contract was too binding.

However like most purebloods, their was a codicil that left room for a third spouse in their union. 

It was a standard addendum: a throw back from medieval times when feuding families would occasional kidnap and mentally eviscerate members of rival clans with prolonged bouts of crucio.

With pure-blood divorce practically impossible, it seemed cruel to leave children half orphaned and shackle healthy adults to raving idiots with no hope for further companionship. Occasionally, particularly ambitious or non-conformist people used it as a tool to legally practice bigamy. 

Lucius was ambitious, and Abraxas wanted more grandchildren. 

Lucius was demonstrating - what he thought - was his prerogative to openly shop for a second partner by cavorting with Regulus so publicly. 

He flaunted his wealth and alleged generous nature outfitting the entire pack of wretched Weasleys, but who could he possibly be trying to impress with his antics?

Why did he think she would ever allow her son's inheritance to be divided or that she would put up with being a 'co-spouse'?

Narcissa did not know what Lucius was thinking, but what ever his plan: she would see hell freeze and beat the devil to death with an icicle before she saw his scheme come to fruition.


	8. Chapter 8

Despite Walburga's imperious directive, Cygnus Black secretly remained in contact his daughter Andromeda and insisted that all the Black girls maintain open lines of communication between each other. Blood purity was important, but family was paramount.

Cygnus persuaded Lucretia Prewitt to invite the Tonks family to Hexam Hall for his sake. Walburga had forbid Cygnus from actively seeking out his child, but she could hardly blame him if he happened to bump into Andromeda during a business trip or at the Prewitt Ball.

Lucretia hated Walburga, and thought Andromeda’s estrangement from the family was stupid but she understood its necessity. The lord of a house, even one as craven as Orion, must be obeyed to protect the prestige of the house. Power existed only where people thought it existed. 

If it ever became common knowledge - outside of the Black family - just how weak willed Lord Orion was it would not be long before the wards on the family vaults were breached and the vast Black assets consumed by a plague of locust hungry poor Crabbe cousins.

Grandmother Irma Crabbe was Vincent Crabbe aunt, Walburga and Cygnus’ first cousin. Vincent was a close enough in blood he could probably break through the wards on the Black family’s Gringott’s vaults with a strong curse breaker at his side. 

Crabb would try it in a wink if he knew what a pushover Orion really was.Poverty was the only thing his heartless bitch sister feared. If Cygnus’ own family were not just as dependant on the Black fortune as Walburga, he would tip Crabbe off in a heartbeat. 

Cygnus had seen tears standing in his youngest girl’s eyes and he knew to the marrow of his bones it was all Walburga’s fault. This was the kind of petty, ridiculous drama only Walburga excelled at. 

She had intentionally driven Sirius, her first born, from her Grimmauld Place. Walburga did it to stop Sirius from assuming the mantle of Lordship of the House of Black from Orion upon his graduation from Hogwarts because Sirius would have finally put Walburga in her place. 

Most likely someplace with a bucket for a toilet and dirt floors in frozen wastelands of north siberia as he often threatened in his angry mumbles.

When Andromeda went to the Lord of her house for permission to marry the muggle-born Theodore Tonks, Orion had not only consented he had arranged for Tonk’s to be blood-adopted into the Macmillian family so the future Tonks-Black children could inherit from the Black fortune. 

Cygnus could not prove it, but he knew Walburga had summoned the Aurors to the site Andromeda and Tonks were preparing for the Rite. Blood magic - even adoption - was illegal in England. Andromeda and Theodore escaped prosecution only by fleeing the country.

Thankfully the statute of limitations had expired, and the Tonks could enter the country again without threat of prosecution.

It had stung them all when Regulus abandoned his family and left England without making any attempt to help Bellatrix evade capture and imprisonment as well. Cygnus had loved the boy like his own and Regulus treated the Black girls like they were his sisters. 

Regulus would never have challenged or even asked Orion for Lordship of Black, but Bellatrix would have. Lucius Malfoy - Voldemort’s right hand was a free man with a job in the ministry, but Bellatrix was a prisoner in Azkabahn. Cygnus knew Walburga was the real reason the injustice.

Now Regulus was playing the cat’s paw in her latest game, an attempt to destroy Narcissa. Salazar only knew what Walburga had used to blackmail Regulus into coming back to England and taking part in her latest scheme, but Cygnus was going stop Walburga once and for all. 

Cygnus could not challenge Walburga directly, to get at Lady Black you had first fight Lord Black. For all his fumbling timidity in the face of Walburga’s dark moods Orion Black was an apocalyptic force of nature with a wand. Orion had fairly won a five way deul to achieve Lordship of Black. 

However what Cygnus lacked in strength, he more than made up for in cunning. If Walburga was a battle-axe hacking all happiness to pieces, Cygnus was a scalpel - small, sharp and deadly elegant. 

To execute the plan Cygnus had in mind he needed the help of his eldest girl Andromeda, the only child whose temperament matched his own.

Cygnus’s vicious reputation parted the crowd before him - dancers changed direction mid-step as if bounced off an invisible force field. Magical instincts guided Cygnus unerringly to his eldest girl. He moved swiftly, like a shark following the scent of blood across the ballroom to the cardroom. 

In times long past, when the Prewitt family - like all pure-blood families in the pre-Hogwarts Era - bred Weasley sized broods of children, and hosted the heirs of other noble houses as apprentices to foster alliances between clans, the cardroom was a dining hall.

Like most of Hexam Hall’s public spaces the card-room had a vaulted ceiling tiled with panes of transparent glass. Hexam Hall’s glass ceilings was the inspiration for Hogwart’s Great Hall. 

The long walls were paneled rich dark red tainted wood. A gallery of Prewitt ancestors covered the walls broken by globed fairy lights at regular intervals. 

The long dining table was packed away to the attic. It was replaced by a dozen felt topped half circle topped card tables manned by three eyed professional wizard dealers on loan from the Prewitt Casino in Monte Carlo for the evening, every chair at each table was full of gamblers intent on their cards.

A crowd six or seven deep was loudly cheering Lady Augusta Longbottom’s winning streak at the roulette boat, that took up most the space in the middle of the room. On the wall, opposite the roulette table was a bar staffed by a trio of four armed professional mixologist on loan from two of the Prewitt family’s most popular nightclubs in New York, and London.

Roughly forty of the duelist scheduled to fight were playing at the pool tables at the far end of the room in front of the massive fireplace while their entourages, fans, groupies and the official handicapper setting the odds for the Stonehenge Festival watched and commented.

Wizards played pool without cue sticks, moving the balls with their magic wandlessly. Participants would stand on either side of the table with arms crossed over their chest attempting to put their balls in the holes while simultaneously preventing their opponent’s balls from sinking home.

It was considered an excellent warm up for the first round of dueling, which was a wandless free for all. 

During the Grand Melee each contestant was dressed in the traditional dueling garb - a magically padded variation of a white fencing uniform, allowed the use of one silver weapon - a blunt edged sword, silver quarter staff or baton, and all the wandless spells they had ever mastered.

Sixty percent of contestants were be eliminated during the Grand Melee on Wine Moon night.

The next night, Howling Moon, the Grand Melee winners were paired in teams according to the handicapper’s rankings and set into four-way fights. The final night, Blood Moon, two individuals faced each other in a single combatant until a winner emerged victorious.

Andromeda and two of her cousins, Duncan and Glenna MacMillian were sitting on the mantelpiece side by side like birds on a wire. They had their little moleskin bet books open and were scribbling furiously and gossiping about the fighters they were watching in urgent whispers.

Andromeda paid no attention to her husband and daughter goofing off inside the empty fireplace beneath her.

The fireplace at the end of the hall still had the blackened iron stand with crank handle the Prewitts used to turn whole cows over a roaring fire. In warm months, the Prewitt twins had used the fireplace as a stage to put on plays with their little friends. 

Nymphadora, first meta-morph born to the Black family in generations, had transformed herself into a chimpanzee. The giggling purple monkey in a fuchsia jumpsuit with white sash was hanging from the spit by her feet upside down. 

Nymphadora’s father, Andromeda’s muggle-born husband Theodore Tonks, turned the handle of the spit slowly swinging his little girl back and forth. When she saw Cygnus making his way up the wide hearth steps, Nymphadora did a somersault off the bar, launching herself into his arms.

“Papa-Cy! Papa Cy! Did you see me?” The little monkey asked as she transformed with a full-body wriggle back into a little girl. “I was a monkey down to the fur!”

“I saw you darling, I though the Prewitt’s had let a real animal into the ball. I was quite surprised to see it was you my lovely girl.” 

Cygnus smoothed down Nymphadora’s fly-away fine hair back into a tidy bob of bright acid green with the hand not keeping the girl balanced on his hip. 

Cygnus turned to his approaching son in law, accepting Nymphadora’s headband from his hand and placing it back on his grandchild’s head.

“Dora’s gift is progressing at a steady pace,” Dr. Tonks told Cygnus with quiet pride. He helped her back into her jacket, and shoes. “She can do just about any cat or dog she takes a mind to. The primates are new, and just the other day I saw her with wings.”

Nymphadora hid her face in the curve of Cygnus’ neck suddenly shy. “Don’t tell Papa-Cy about the wings. They don’t work yet,” she pouted.

The little girl hardly ever saw her Black grandparents in person. When Nymphadora did get to see them - especially her Papa-Cy who was the only adult besides her parents who believed Nymphadora’s plain face was absolutely beautiful - she was determined to impress them.

Unfortunately for little Nymphadora, her parents were very much in love, and she therefore took after her father in every way except her eyes.

Tonks was very fit, but of average height. He looked short next to his wife. He had a square head, fine brown hair and eyes. He was so ordinary looking and mild mannered people forgot what he looked like soon after meeting him. In dress robes, he looked like a waiter instead of a lord. 

 

“My money's on Lockhart,” Glenna MacMillian declared after watching Gilderoy Lockhart sink every ball on a nearby pool table into their holes simultaneously with a flourish of hand and cape. “Did you see that? Man’s a natural!”

“After what he did at the Easter Island Invitational I don’t trust him,” Duncan Macmillian sniffed. “What kind of fighter eliminates himself because the other duelist aren’t enough of a challenge? Who does that?”

“Gilderoy Lockhart apparently,” Andromeda commented dryly. “With over a hundred contestants there should be enough quality in the field of combatants to satisfy his needs. There’s certainly enough money at stake.”

“He’s not in this for the money,” Glenna sighed dreamily fanning herself with her open bet book. “He fights for the fight itself. He said the fight is a pure poem of violence between two bodies struggling from opposing points of self expression. You can only truly love the people you fight.” 

“I feel sorry for his lovers,” Andromeda replied wryly. “Sex with him must be a real doozy.”

“New age near east mystic b.s. to cover up pure greed,” Macmillian dismissed. “The purse is at least 250,000 gold galleons, don’t tell me he’s here for the purity of combat. You can’t even kill your opponents at Stonehenge. Now the cage fights at the Kremlin - that’s bloodsport.”

“In the good old days this was a gathering of Lords and worthy champions to hunt and slaughter Werewolves by the light of the longest full moon of the year,” Cygnus told the cousins sitting on the far end of the mantlepiece as he approached, with Nymphadora still on his hip and Tonks at his side.

“There was a time when you did not propose marriage without presenting your intended with a fortune in the bank and an equally impressive collection of hunting trophies.”

“Those furs on the wall of your bedroom, you killed them?” Andromeda asked curiously. The lush animal-pelts lining the walls and carpeting the floors of her parent’s bedroom had always been a cosy morbid part of the decor - like the house-elf heads in the hall. 

It had never occurred to Andromeda that her quiet father decorated the room with animal skins and filled her mother’s closet with fur coats as a love tribute, but it did fit with everything she knew about her parents. 

At Druella’s request, Cygnus had carried and birthed all three of their daughters. A fact that still made her aunt Walburga insanely jealous.

“I killed every single one,” Cygnus confirmed. “Lucky for me werewolf hunting was not outlawed until after Druella accepted me. Malcolm Flint killed a Kraken for Druella, thankfully she prefers fur to scales.”

Dr. Tonks walked over to his wife, put his hands on Andromeda’s waist and helped her slide gracefully down off the mantlepiece and into his arms. “What would you like me to kill as a token of my undying devotion?” Dr. Tonks asked his wife kissing her cheek. 

Andromeda’s short emerald green hair was gelled, and combed neatly flat with a side part. Her pale silver eyes were ringed with enough dark kohl to embarrass an egyptian queen, and her lips were wrapped around a lit cigar long and thick as a midget’s cock. 

Cygnus looked angry enough to say something stupid.Because of their past with blood magic the Aurors had them under subtle surveillance. Andromeda took a drag on her stoogie and blew out a cloud of smoke that effectively shielded her conversation with her husband and father. 

Doctor Theodore Tonks was a so ordinary looking, No one understood how the mild mannered muggleborn managed capture the heart of Andromeda Black; but then few knew Dr. Theo Tonks was a child soldier of the Irish Republican Army.

At the tender age of 11, two hours before boarding the train to Hogwarts, Ten-ton Tonks earned his nickname by planting a bomb that replaced the Queen Victoria Monument in front of Buckingham Palace in London with a ten foot deep, forty foot wide smoking crater.

It was a miracle that only twenty people died.

Andromeda - instinctively fascinated with death, destruction, and fear like all Blacks - was drawn to the quiet muggleborn slytherin boy who watched the other children like zoo exhibits. It took the Ravenclaw girl years to sort out Tonk’s secret, by then her obsession had turned to love.

“You can start with Walburga.”

The couple turned from looking adoringly into each others eyes to take in the utterly serious expression on Cygnus' face. 

Andromeda frowned in concern. “What’s she done now?”

“She’s trying to breakup Narcissa’s marriage! She’s got Regulus humping Lucius in the middle of the dance floor as we speak!”

Dr. Tonks face went professionally blank. He tilted his head in curiosity. “Do you want her head with or without the and tongue? I only ask because demon tongue is selling at record breaking prices these days, and we have to think of Dora’s future university fees.”

“Father stop encouraging Theo, - Theo We. Are. On. Holiday!”

“Yes dear.”

“Father why don’t you, and Dora go find mother before she takes out a contract on Lucius. She hasn’t seen Dora’s latest transformation. Theo collect Draco and send Cissa to me. BEFORE she scratches Lucius eyes out.”

“Yes dear.”

“He deserves to have his eyes scratched out -”

“Maybe, but this is not the place for hysterics and bloodshed. Go now. I’ll wait here.”

After Theodore Tonks took Draco off her hands, Narcissa went to join her eldest sister in the card-room. Andromeda was waiting for her leaning against a corner of the long bar with on elbow turned toward the room to watch for Narcissa's approach, nursing a drink and smoking.

Andromeda took a lung filling drag off her cigar and blew a cloud of smoke that molded itself like clay under a sculptor’s hands before it solidified into a life size replica of the two sisters. The fake Narcissa and Andromeda hugged each other and launched into a loud happy conversation. 

In the mirror over the bar Narcissa could see the image of the fake sisters, but not the reflection of the real women facing each other. It was an impressive illusion, it took a lot of power to fool a mirror especially in a house grounded with wards as strong as Hexam Hall’s.

“It won’t last,” Andromeda answered the question she could see in Narcissa’s eyes. “I couldn’t do it at all if aunt Lucy weren’t married to the Lord Prewitt. Membership hath its privileges.”

Ever the fuck it all icon Andromeda wore a black tuxedo - cut slim to accentuate her long athletic limbs, and no shirt. Delicate quarter moons of bare breast were visible between the satin lapels of her suit jacket. Her shoes were acid green stilettos with silver heels.

A diamond the size of a grape, that matched her pale eyes, glittered on the ring finger of the hand that took the cigar out of her mouth and put it back in between puffs.

“Mimi, I need your help-”

“No I won’t kill your husband, no I won’t let Theo kill your husband, no I won’t help you plan to kill your husband, no I won’t help you hire someone to kill your husband. If your question has anything to do with killing your husband the answer is No.”

“I’d go to Bellatrix, but she’s indisposed.”

“Trix is lucky to be alive. She was fucking sloppy. I warned her about showboating on a job. I said blitz your hits Trix. In. Out. Over. Did she listen? No. What do I know? I only kill people for a living. Maybe you’ll show more sense. Take my advice: let this blow over.”

“May I at least ask why you won’t help me deal with Lucius after what he’s done to me? Your baby sister?”

“Mad as you are, I’m sure you realize Draco still needs his father.”

Narcissa flicked her long black streaked white hair over her shoulder with a toss of her head and crossed her arms under her chest in a habitual move that distracted her husband or any other interested party when she was trying to get her way, but did nothing while arguing with her sister.

“I’ll get him a new one. I could get two more husbands before Lucius body hits the floor.”

Andromeda snorted twin streams of smoke out her nose like a dragon. The grey cloud drifted over to reinforce the illusion women that had started to fade around the edges.

“Nobody is going to love your brat more than Lucius, and Draco would never respect Lucius’ replacement ‘cause he’s a daddy’s boy. Ten years from now, Draco will go to prison for setting the step dad on fire and pissing in the ashes.”

“I don’t have to remarry. I don’t think I could stand another man after what Lucius’ done.”

“Fine, but what happens when Draco figures out you offed his old man? He’d hate you. Is that what you want? For your only child to despise the site of you?”

“No but-”

“No buts. Besides you still love Lucius. You’d regret killing him, and the guilt would make you crazy. Murder is like sex. It gets easier and you learn to enjoy it the more you do it, but the first time is painful and messy if you’ve got a soul. You shouldn’t kill a loved one for your first go -”

“You shouldn’t fuck your relative either. If Lucius doesn’t have a problem crossing a red line, I don’t have a problem crossing a red line.”

“Do I need to remind you Uncle Orion and Aunt Walburga are first cousins? Fucking family is a proud Black tradition. I’m pretty sure Bellatrix and Sirius took each other’s virginity.”

“Don’t be crass Mimi!”

“What do you want me to say? You’re talking like a middle class prude - all ruffled feathers and righteous fury - when you don’t even know if they are really screwing around. Didn’t Reggie just hit town sometime this week?”

“Oh they’re doing it, and Lucius wants me to KNOW they’re doing it. Me and the whole damned world. Mimi, Draco and Mummy saw them rutting like rabbits in the middle of the room!”

“That bastard.”

“Thinks he can get away with anything. I’ll show him -”

“Calm. The. Fuck. Down. Here drink this.”

“What is it?”

“Mother’s Milk - sweet cream, vodka, and espresso. Just the thing to steady your nerves: high octane pap. Lucius has cheated on you for years, you’re just miffed he’s not being discreet about whatever this is. Injured pride is no reason to kill Luc. Once he’s gone, and you calm down -”

“I’m not forgiving him for this! He’s gone TOO far! I’m humiliated -”

“Trust me on this, I’ve killed a LOT of spouses. The rates of buyer’s remorse on domestic hit are unreal. It’s gotten to the point I just kidnap marks and hold them for a weekend. Half of the time, come monday, my sponsor pays double the hit to get the mark back safe and sound. Wishy washy pussies.”

“I’m not that weak.”

“We are all weak when it comes to the people we love, that’s why they can hurt us like nobody else.”

“I. Do. NOT. Love. Lucius.”

“You wouldn’t have tears in your eyes if Lucius had not hurt you. Lucius could not hurt your if you did not love him. So no killing. Full stop...but suffering? That’s a different story. Here’s what you do...”


	9. Chapter 9

During the golden age of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Prewitt’s extravagant entertaining - back when Mozart and Beethoven were pop stars - the red wood paneled Hexam Hall card room was the formal dining room, and what was now the formal dining room on the opposite side the vast ballroom was a private opera house.

Because the Prewitts were subtly devious bunch by nature and despite the size of the dining room there was only ever enough seats for 60% of the guests attending the Prewitt ball; and only people sitting at the crisp linen covered candlelit tables received attention from the servers. 

Only their table at the head of the room near the stage, had seating dedicated to specific people by little name cards hand written by Lady Prewitt.

All the other tables and chairs were open to whom ever sat in them first. 

Those without a chair when the Prewitts and their guests at the head table sat down - signalling the beginning of the first course - were obliged to remain standing for the entire sixteen courses of the formal dinner. 

Those left on their feet had to suffer the indignity of waiting in line to serve themselves from the buffet tables loaded with tiny artful hor dourves on either side of the doors.

They drank white zinfandel from the communal wine fountain, a lovely reproduction of the Manneken Pis (a little boy holding his little penis with both little hands peeing into the fountain: *authors not the statue is real and very famous*) in Brussels done in sterling silver . 

It was an intolerable affront to personal standards of elegance to some, a novelty to others, and pure entertainment watched through opera glasses by those lucky enough to be in a chair. 

It was not surprising that when the dinner gong rang loud and hollow as a church bell the card room emptied with the alarming speed of a bucket of water with the bottom punched out. 

Andromeda remained where she was, sitting half on a stool at the corner of the bar smoking and drinking. There was no need for her to rush, she had a place at the head table - next to her parents. Apparently so did August Longbottom and her brother-in-law Alfric Longbottom.

Instead of hurrying out to jockey for a good seat, the Longbottoms were taking their time to count and tally up August’s winnings at the roulette table. It was an impressive heap of silver and gold. They were giggling like school children with halloween candy as they stacked towers of coins.

Augusta Longbottom had always enjoyed extraordinarily good luck - except when it came to her family. 

As the room emptied completely Andromeda huffed out a cloud of smoke from her cigar that completely concealed her from view. She could not hold the illusion long, but she would not have too. The Longbottoms would leave her alone with her thoughts soon enough. 

She had to figure out how to handle the Malfoy situation before one of her relatives did something rash that exposed how vulnerable the House of Black really was.

Uncle Orion powerful - by the bonds of family magic Andromeda could feel the solid strength of the lord of her house across the manse like the warmth of a fire - but Aunt Walburga had browbeat the man into such timidity he would never challenge Lucius. 

It would not even occur to Orion he should. The man had not had a thought that was not planted by her Aunt Walburga for as long as Andromeda could remember.

Andromeda could hold her own against any Malfoy, even the head of the French Branch of the family, Ambrose Malfoy - but she was disowned. She would not be allowed to fight for the honor of Black. The other strong fighters in the family - Sirius and Bellatrix - were locked up in Azkaban. 

That left Regulus, he had held his own in fights against Bellatrix and Sirius when they were kids, but Andromeda was not about to count on his help now.

The last time Regulus had an opportunity to stand with his family in their hour of need, he fled the country with his husband and child without a backward glance. 

The door to the card-room opened and closed. Andromeda looked up at the same time the Longbottoms did to see Regulus Black and Uncle Alphard striding across the room to meet them.

“Uncle Alphard, I’d be grateful if you would do the honors?”

“Lady Augusta Longbottom, Mr. Alford Longbottom, may I introduce my cousin Mr. Black-Prince, son of Lord Orion Black? Cousin Regulus Black-Prince: Augusta Lady of Longbottom and her brother-in-law Mr. Longbottom.”

Regulus touched his forehead to Lady Longbottom’s extended hand and the gentlemen bowed to each other. 

“How do you do?” Lady Augusta asked.

“Very well, thank you and let us skip the rest of the chit chat,” Regulus retorted. He hopped up onto the edge of the roulette table swinging his legs like a child. “My dear Aunt Lucretia has instructed me to hear you out. I’m here, you have my undivided attention. What do you want?”

Lady Augusta drew herself up to her full height, and locked eyes with Regulus, he meet her formidable gaze with mocking raised eyebrows. “Well? My husband’s waiting and my dinner is getting cold.”

Alford Longbottom sucked in his breath bunt at this blunt speech. Andromeda could tell Mr. Longbottom was preparing to verbally whip Regulus for his impertinence to a Lady of Longbottom by his reddening face. Lady Augusta held up and hand, and Alford deflated without a sputter.

Uncle Alphard stood to the side, the third point in the little triangle of conflict, arms crossed tight over his chest. Jaw clenched shut. He stared at an empty point between his nephew and the Longbottoms. 

Clearly he wanted nothing to do with the scene. However the Longbottoms were his friends. Regulus was a cat not to be trusted with canaries. Andromeda remembered Uncle Alphard had always liked his godson Sirius best. He thought Regulus was to much like his mother Walburga. 

“Bellatrix Lestrange and her husband Rodolphus killed my husband and shattered the minds of my son and his wife. By the blood we share, through Callidora Black, grand-daughter of Nigellas the first, I Augusta, matriarch of the most Noble Ancient House of Longbottom, invoke my blood right to recompense.”

“You have no claim on me by right of blood. I am not the Lord Black, Lord LeStrange or even one of Bellatrix’s sibling. I have no authority over or responsibility for the actions of Bellatrix LeStrange nee Black and her husband Lord Rudolphus LeStrange. Your debt of honor has no hold on me. What else have you got Lady Augusta?”

“Unfeeling brat!” Alford Longbottom burst out unable to retrain himself. “Do the bonds of family mean nothing to you?”

“Ford get a hold of yourself man!” Alphard Black snapped. 

“Since when are we related?”

“Stop playing the fool Regulus you know the lineage better than most,” Alphard now snapped at his nephew. 

“Please excuse my confusion about our alleged familial connection to the Longbottoms: I was raised to believe families are more than names on a tapestry. Family gather for family gatherings. I never saw you at my father’s table at Grimmauld Place. I’ve never been invited inside Longbourn Grange. ”

“You want to discuss that now?” Augusta gasped in disbelief. “You want to talk about missed tea parties and sunday suppers while my only child and his wife are drooling and staring at the walls?”

“Have you no decency in your soul?” Alford Longbottom shouted fist clenched at his sides. “Do the right thing you black hearted scoundrel!”

“Do the right thing?” Regulus asked incredulously, then hummed mulling it over, looking up at the ceiling briefly. 

“Righteousness is the battle cry of the unimaginative moralist. What pray tell is the right thing Mr. Longbottom? No, Uncle Al don’t stifle the man. Let him say his peace. He’ll explode if he doesn’t get it out. Aunt Lucy will have a fit about the mess. You know how fussy she is.”

“You know what’s right! You, you scamp!”

“Correct. I do know what’s right. I know what’s right for me and mine. I also know what’s just: my beautiful near sister Bellatrix has suffered Dementors gnawing on her soul like a meaty bone in a dog kennel for long bitter years-”

“Bellatrix LeStrange deserves to be in prison!”

“Your son and his wife deserve to be imbeciles soiling themselves in an asylum. That's justice. But that is not what we want for them is it? You mercy for your family, just as I want mercy for mine.”

“How can you say that!”

“Think I don’t know your precious son and his precious wife brought innocent people in for questioning who were never seen again?”

“Frank and Alyce never murdered anybody! They wouldn’t -”

“They may not have caste the curses themselves but they are hardly innocent. They stood by and did NOTHING while their fellow aurors used unforgivables on every witch or wizard not light enough suit them. Alastor Moody’s hands are just as bloody as Voldemort's.” 

“They were death eaters bent on murder and mayhem!”

“You think we all joined Voldemort to pillage and kill? That came later: when we were drunk on arrogance and the taste of blood in our mouths became an addiction. At first it was self defense. The Ministry was hunting us like animals. Picking us off one by one, family by family-”

“You were animals! Vicious, blood thirsty murderous -”

“Emeline van Brunt and Samuel Hartley were in my year at Hogwarts. Your son took them away in the middle of the night and I never saw them again. Nobody ever saw them, their parents or siblings again. Think a couple a trembling third years were vicious, bloodthirsty and murderous?”

Lady Longbottom kept pushing. She dropped to her knees before Regulus, putting her hands on top of his on his thighs. A pleading beggar at the feet of a merciless little king. 

Andromeda almost felt sorry for her. Uncle Alphard should have warned Lady Augusta not to try to appeal to Regulus’ better nature. He did not have one.

“Neville is the same age as your own son! Have you no pity for the poor boy? Left practically an orphan by the callous villainy of your evil near sister?” Lady Longbottom cried out her voice choked by unshed tears.

Regulus looked down on the old women, and sneered. He pushed her hands off his legs then brushed his thighs off with a handkerchief as if her touch made him dirty. 

“I’m raising Bellatrix’s orphan just as you are raising Neville, my brother is in prison because Frank Longbottom is a cowardly bastard -”

“Sirius is in prison for killing the Potters and Pettigrew!”

“Sirius loved Potter more than his own family. He ran away from home to live with Potter. He was best man at Potter’s wedding. God-father of Potter’s mud-blood brat. Did Frank, his friend and mentor - in the name of the blood we share - run to Sirius’ defense when he was accused and imprisoned without trial? No. He did not.” 

Lady Longbottom struggled to stand up - Alphard and Alford had to grasp her by the elbows and help pull her back up to her feet. Regulus slide off the edge of the roulette table and faced the old battle-axe in a toe to toe stare down. 

Alphard and Alford flanked Augusta’s shoulders, but Regulus was not intimidated by the older wizards physically backing up Lady Longbottom. The Black-Prince folded his arms over his chest and raised his chin looking down on them all. 

“I don’t need you. There are a lot of people here tonight interested what I have to offer. Stop wasting my time or I walk and you can plant your son in the back garden with the rest of the vegetables and water him with your tears.”

“What do you want?” Augusta Longbottom’s voice was soft, but there as an edge of command behind it. 

“An equivalent exchange. An eye for an eye. A life for a life. Your son and his wife for my Bellatrix and her husband.”

“I couldn’t save them even if I wanted to. I can’t sit on the jury of their trails. My family members are their victims. Besides they killed my husband with an unforgivable curse. There is no way in the world they won’t be convicted and kissed by dementors.”

“Rudolphus tortured Frank, Bellatrix tortured Alyce, but you and I both know Barty Crouch Jr. killed your husband.”

“How do you know that? You weren’t even there!”

“Never mind what I know, or how I know it. Do you want your son resorted to his right mind or not?”

“Yes,” Lady August replied grudgingly. 

“You are as much a monster as that mad twisted black hearted hellcat -”

“Why thank you Mr. Longbottom. Most people can’t see the family resemblance...but Bella and I are kindred souls, practically fraternal twins: were where born on the same day, and our parents are siblings. I can’t be happy when she’s suffering, I’m incomplete without her. Unbalanced.”

“Excuse me while I gag on my outpouring of sympathy,” Alford mocked. 

“Get on with it Regulus,” Alphard Black demanded tiredly. 

“Right o Uncle Al - Lady Augusta if you and Ford there make a truly impassioned plea for leniency in the name of family reconciliation I’m sure the Wizengamot will see fit to release my Bella and her husband with time served and probation.”

“I want Frank restored first -”

“Only if you and Ford make the unbreakable vow binding not only your cooperation, but the cooperation of everyone in your house to this endeavor. Uncle Alphard will be our witness...It’s not that I don’t trust you but, well,” Regulus shrugged. “I don’t trust you.”

Andromeda held her breath. She missed her silly, loud, impulsive lovable bitch middle sister terribly. She had resigned herself to Bellatrix’s death years ago, but never accepted it. The possibility Bellatrix just might outlive her troubled youth was a hope she had ever allowed herself.

Until now. 

Damn her Uncle Alphard for taking sides against the family. She would never forgive him or Sirius. Damn her Uncle Orion for letting their family fall to pieces. Damn Walburga, on general principle, for living! Damn Regulus if this failed -

“Alright, alright,” Lady August agreed her shoulders slumping. She turned away from Regulus, Alphard and Alford. She stumble walked away from the three men, supporting herself on the edge of the roulette table like she might fall down without it.

Augusta picked up one of the many random drinks abandoned there amongst the scattered chips and coins littering the surface of the roulette table finished it off with one gulp then reached for another. 

After three shots of liquor from the cups of strangers she wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and turned to face Regulus. Lady Augusta’s stiff spine relaxed, she draped herself against the roulette boat on one elbow, her feet crossed at the ankles. 

Lady Augusta transformed with her posture from the stiff, prim, matriarch of Longbottom to the loan shark, con women Gussie Finch. It was the brassy, lusty Gussie Finch young Lord Anthony Millard Longbottom feel in love with her decades ago when glitzy Las Vegas was young, dusty and full of mobsters.

“Dear Lucy has you sketched all wrong doesn’t she chum?” Gussie asked casually, her imperious voice softened, to a smoke rough flat American accent that twanged a little. “You’re drinking from a cup of evil so dark and deep you can’t even see the bottom can you?”

“I don’t have to see it to know it’s there.”

“Tell you what little king. Square my kids away. Deal me and mine out of the house of cards you’re building. I’ll not only help your pop your twisted near sister and her madman from the clink. I’ll give you some useful tips for handling the delightful Maggie Shand without losing a hand.”

“What could you possibly tell me about Shand the Magnificent I don’t already know?”

“A hell of a lot if you’re still calling that backstabbing bastard Magnificent.” Gussie picked up a stack of three poker chips. 

She flipped the stack off her thumb, making them spin straight up and land back on her thumb restacked in a column. Then she made the bet pieces walk across her knuckles backward and forwards climbing over each other like little gymnast without breaking eye contact with Regulus. 

“Alford, Alphard, run along to dinner. I’ll catch up in a tick."

"I don't think it's safe for you to be alone with this rapscallion! Who knows what he'll try."

"Don't you worry about me Alford. I was born and raised in Nevada. I know how to handle a snake without getting bit.” The two older men left, throwing glares at Regulus as they slipped out the door. When the door closed behind the her friend and her brother in law Gussie continued.

“You know Severus’ mother was supposed to marry old Maggie Shand? Their union was arranged a generation before little Eileen was even conceived.”

“Yes? So what.”

“The Principies don’t think commoners and servants are worthy of being pissed on. Knowing she was promised to Shand why do you think Eileen screwed around with Tobais Snape?”

“She was what 16? Innocent. Sheltered. Homesick. Exiled to a freezing castle in the middle of the Scottish wilderness with naught but miserable English children for company? Eileen probably would have screwed her owl if it spoke Italian and cooked risotto.”

“You ate that poor little rich girl bullshit whole without even sniffing it first didn’t you? Eileen wasn’t a vapid chit waiting to spread her legs on daddy’s command, Tobais wasn’t some child molesting thug, and Shand earned his title as the MAGNIFICENT black bastard of immortal courts.”

“Shand tried to save Eileen, he fought for her honor, striped Snape of his magic and made him a squib.”

“Shand striped Mr. Snape’s memory of his past as a master assassin serving the Immortal Courts. It was the ever helpful Shand who put the fidelis on Eileen to keep her quiet about her true identity. Shand covered up what really happened up here from everyone in the Immortal Courts.”

“Why would he do that? Eileen was Shand's most direct route to the assuming the throne!”

“That’s for me to know, and you to find out. If you’re interested in talking terms like an adult. Keep fumbling your schemes like a drunk stumbling about the edge of bottomless pit and I guarantee you’ll fall in the hole of no return sooner rather than later. Maybe you’ll even find your long lost little friends Emeline and Samuel.”

“Fuck. You.”

“No thanks sugar. I never take spoilt pretty pouty-face bitches who think their little carrot is a meat stick to bed. I prefer real men. Now make me an decent offer or I walk. I bet Severus would do a lot to find out what really happened to his mother, who did it and how.”

“Severus won’t give you the time of day. He doesn’t trust anybody but me.”

“Sure about that sonny boy? I hear you’ve got a good thing going with Eileen’s boy. Not much of a trick considering the hard knock life he had, but would you really bet your cushy lifestyle on me not being able to put a flea in his ear? Keep in mind I’ve got all these uptight cousin marrying pampered jackasses believing my blood is just as blue as theirs is.”

“What do you want?” Regulus asked warily.

“Don’t worry hon. You get everything you asked for, plus Bellatrix, Rastaban and Rodolphus get a clean slate. Wipe their minds of their entire time with Voldemort. You and yours never make war with me mine again. We seal the bargain with the unbreakable vow.”

“I can’t take a vow on behalf of my family. I’m not the Lord Black.”

“And you never will be. Now your cousin over there, hiding in that fading smoke screen - she could step right into Rye’s shoes. With a little help from you. No problem. Someone needs to keep your sassy ass in line. After tonight I think she’ll be really keen to do the job proper.”

Regulus’ head whipped around to see Andromeda stepping out of the diminishing haze by the bar.

“Mimi?”

“Hello Reggie. Long time no see. When I finish negotiating with Lady Longbottom you and I are going to have a proper sit down. Savvy?”

“Yes, Mimi.”

“Good...Lady Longbottom, it’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is -”


	10. Chapter 10

Before she set the wizarding world’s hair on fire with her sensational weekly editorial column Skeet Shoots the Truth in the Sunday Daily Prophet or her wizarding wireless program Tough Talk with Rita, reporter Rita Skeeter was Margarita Mulciber.

The only daughter Dr. Kurtis Kain Mulciber and Sharon Mulciber nee Yaxley used her husband’s surname for all her professional business, and her family name for the social engagements she was pressured to attend by her domineering grandmother, Lady Yaxley.

The time consuming, tedious, inconvenience of maintaining two separate identities was the secret behind Skeeter’s professional success and the longevity of her personal relationships despite how regularly Rita publicly lambasted friends and acquaintances for wrongdoing in the media.

People trusted the loud mouthed tacky Rita Skeeter with secrets and stories they would not dare to share with a pure-blood Mulciber heiress.

To keep people from associating Margarita Mulciber with Rita Skeeter, the journalist made her public and private personas as different as water and whiskey.

Rita Skeeter was a cheap jewelry and faux fur wearing, lime green loving, peroxide blonde with rhinestone studded cat’s eye glasses, blood red lips, and talon long nails who would stand out among circus performers.

Margarita Mulciber blended perfectly with the well-heeled crowd coming out of the card room, mixing with the people in the ballroom and moving toward the closed doors of the dining room like a migrating herd on the African Savannah.

Her dark wine purple brown hair was piled up on her head, artfully held in place by understated heirloom pearl ornaments. She wore a full length gown of rich plum silk, fawn gold elbow length gloves with a pair of bronze opera glasses dangling from one deceptively delicate wrist.

The first gong, a five minute warning that the dining room doors would open, was still reverberating in the air. An almost inaudible hum that could be felt in the back teeth.

Two statues, shaped like dancing women, flanked the doors triple height doors of the Hexam Hall formal dining room and held up the domed ceiling of the ballroom in the palms of their uplifted marble hands.

The crowds bunching around the statue’s feet and in front of the doors were waiting for the second gong which signaled the opening of the dining room doors and the beginning of the dinner Rush.

Instead of staying with the people waiting to enter the dining room, Rita ducked into the shadow behind the dancer to the right of the doors and stole up the narrow curving staircase hidden there.

The stairway lead up to a landing with a balcony overlooking the floor of the dining room on the righthand side, and peep holes in the wall that looked down on the floor of the ballroom through the eyes of the statues of the dancers on the left side.

The Daily Prophet photographer Romic Skeeter, Margarita Mulciber’s husband, had set up two wide angle cameras on tripods: one filming the ballroom floor. The other camera pointed over the rail of the dining room balcony.

The Prewitts were a devious bunch. An family most Ancient and Noble family of business people, brokers, diplomats and lawyers who sent the majority of their children straight to Slytherin House. As with most Slytherins, what amused the Prewitts was generally cruel and subtle.

By tradition only the Prewitt family, their select friends and honored guests had reserved seating at the head table near the stage. Each chair was dedicated to specific person by little name cards hand written by Lady Prewitt herself.

Despite the size of the dining room there was only ever enough seats for a little over half of the guests attending the Wine Moon Ball at Hexam Hall. Those without a chair after the third dinner gong would remain standing for the entire seven courses of dinner.

When the last ball guest left, while the house elves tidied Hexam Hall, the Prewitt family gathered with popcorn and wine to watch their dignified ball guests stampeding like cattle through a chute to get an empty seat at a table.

The films were hilarious, but watching the Rush live was even more entertaining.

The privilege of enjoying the Prewitt family’s well kept secret was reserved for select, old friends of the family.

Usually only Rita’s grandmother, the grand dame of dishy dirt and secret owner of the Prophet Publishing Group, Lady Helene Yaxley was accorded the honor.

Since Margarita Skeeter nee Mulciber was Lady Yaxley’s favorite grandchild, and likely successor, she got to join Lady Yaxley watch the Rush live as well.

As Rita Skeeter crossed the landing, Lady Yaxley lowered her opera glasses and turned away from her position looking out one of the statue head’s peep holes to greet her.

“Margarita, dearest you look smashing!” Lady Helene Yaxley welcomed Rita Skeeter with open arms kissing both her cheeks and hugging her briefly. “Is that dress one of Bellanolia Zabini’s creations?”

“It is. Since It’s been years since I last attended this shindig. I wanted to look my best to night. Lady Lola never lets me down.”

“Out of practice as you are, it should not have taken you long to get dressed. Where have you been all night child? Lady Prewitt asked after you most particularly. So did your little friend, Hendrick Hitchens. He was practically twitching to spill you a secret.”

“Hendrick's here? I haven’t seen him in ages. Did he say what he wanted?”

“Never mind Hendrick. Did you see Regulus Black dancing with Lucius Malfoy like a sex worker desperate to make rent money? Wasn’t it SCANDALOUS? Like a stage show at a knocking-house! I wanted to put gold down their pants when it was over.”

“They did WHAT?”

“They were sooOO obscene. I hope Romic got pictures. Unless someone stabs their spouse while giving birth to a flaming baby, THAT is going to be the front page of the Witch Weekly’s Wine Ball Special Edition!”

“I can’t believe I missed that! Did Narcissa see it?”

“I saw Narcissa hustle her little boy off to dinner covering his eyes. Poor thing must be devastated! Her mother was so livid! I could see the heat waves rising off Druella's head. ”

“I bet I was waiting to floo over when it happened. I wouldn’t have gotten here tonight, if Gideon had not been in the chamber when I fire called. I went straight to the card room to do a little old fashion eavesdroping. Luck and liquor loosen lips faster than anything else I know.”

“Rats in hats! I saw Reggie was whispering in Luc’s ear. I could only lip read a few bits of their conversation! Not enough to make any sense. I was really hoping you picked up more than I had.”

“Why didn’t you cast a charm?”

“I couldn’t maintain a line of sight long enough. Oh, I wish you’d been there Rita. Nobody can cast a listening charm like you my dear.”

“Sorry Nan.”

“Never mind. Something will slip out if we remain vigilant...Where were you before you got here? Not at the office late again I hope? I thought you got all of your articles in on time? This week.”

“I was running down a lead on the Burbank murder. My source thinks that before Alanis Burbank went missing, she was trying to suppress rumors of a werewolf uprising.”

“There hasn’t been an outbreak of lunatic violence since you were a toddler. Is there anything to the rumors of rebellion?”

“I don’t know. So far I can’t corroborate the accusation independently. The facts don’t jive with common sense.”

“How so?”

“If Burbank was covering up a lunatic plot, why would the werewolves kill her? Wouldn’t killing a sympathizer with a important position in the Ministry of Magic set back their plans and hurt their cause?”

“That does sound contradictory; but my darling you are assuming that it was the werewolves who killed Burbank.”

“Her house was trashed, slashed and blood splashed. All they ever found was a bloody piece of the women’s scalp.”

“That does not mean Ms. Burbank is dead. Also, you presume it is a werewolf plot. Perhaps Burbank planned to set the werewolves up to distract the public from the Ministry of Magic’s looming budget crisis. Perhaps the lunatics found out and violently objected to being made the scapegoat? Perhaps someone wants to make sure there is no distraction from the Ministry's latest folly.”

“Hhmm. Wouldn’t be the first time the Ministry of Magic created a strawman to justify a gross breach of the public trust -”

“It wouldn’t even be the first time the Ministry of Magic tried to hide an egregious abuse of power or dereliction of duty. Recall the Baskerville Incident?”

“I do. Nasty bit of work. She couldn’t have come up with such a scheme by herself. By all accounts Alanis was every bit the unimaginative hardworking earnest little Hufflepuff. But then why would her co-conspirators turned on her?”

"Not for the sake of the wolves I'll wager. Nobody likes them - their own families expel them to the wilderness to live off the land like savages.”

“Stop jumping to conclusions. We may publish hyperbole, but we must always know what the facts really are. Tell you what. Run a two inch column front page. Bottom left. Below the fold. Bump the Quidditch scores -”

“Please don’t move the Quidditch report; Uncle Eustis will have a fit!”

“Sports has four full pages all to themselves. If there’s even a drop of truth to the Burbank plot the headlines will sell out the news stands for a week! Eustis can get happy in the same pants he gets mad in. Offer the usual reward. Let’s shake the rumor tree. See what falls out.”

“You think that will make someone come forward? Honestly Nan, I’ve turned over every rock in the garden and I really don’t think there is really that much more to tell after all this time.”

“There’s always more to the story. Even the most far fetched stories grow from a kernel of truth. Remember our family motto?”

“Knowledge is our power...only stupid muggles think words can never hurt them.”

“So true. So true...Floo the paper immediately. Print everything you’ve got or suspect on Burbank’s disappearance. I want it all in the evening edition.”

“Do you suppose I can use the floo here to make a call? Or will I have to track down one of the Prewitt twins to un-ward it?”

“It’s open for communication, but not transportation. I used it earlier myself to make some inquiries about Regulus Black and his new husband. Don’t go just now. Wait until the rush is over. I don’t want you missing the best part.”

The ladies took up their positions at the statue peep holes. Standing side by side they looked out the dinner plate size round holes in the stone through their opera glasses at the people milling about below to enter the dining room beneath them.

Off to the side, on the steps that lead down to the ballroom from the entrance hall, stood the Prewitt family and the honored guests who would sit at their table. Lady Lucretia was taking them a few at a time to line up in front of the doors to take part in the stately Duelist Procession into dinner.

The second gong rang loud and resonated deep shaking the marrow of their bones. Lady Yaxley and her granddaughter raised their opera glasses to their eyes as the doors of the dining room opened inward.

“It’s like watching a running of the bulls in Pamplona,” Lady Yaxley giggled.

“No. The bulls have more dignity,” Rita replied also giggling.

The mob of fashionable people surged forward. They jostled each other like panicked animals escaping a fire to force their way through the entrance.

A few of the very nimble, hoisted themselves up on the shoulders of others. They crawled like stumbling infants over the top of the heaving throng.

The skilled used magic to fly themselves over the horde.

Some of the less skilled collided with the more skilled in mid air and fell down painfully on the people below.

A dozen of the first through the door tripped and went sliding across the mirror shine polished floor. Some of them were a little trampled and tripped over before being transported to the sidelines by the long suffering, supervising house-elves.

Lady Yaxley and Mrs. Skeeter hurried back and forth from the peep holes to the balcony trying to see as much of the chaos as they could.

They laughed so much their stomachs hurt and they could hardly catch their breath to make fun of the fools they were watching.

The third gong had sounded. Everyone who was going to get a chair was seated. Those who were going to be standing for the duration limped away sullenly.

Lady Yaxley and Mrs. Skeeter made their way slowly down the stairs leaning heavily on the handrails to keep from falling.Still laughing uncontrollably and wiping tears from their cheeks Lady Yaxley and her granddaughter re entered the ballroom.

“Did you see Lady Hitchens drop kick that presumptuous little tart out her chair? The nerve of some of these half bloods is outrageous! Everyone knows the tables near the front are for the old families.”

“Lighten up Nan. The half-blood did not know any better. After all most of our rules are unwritten and they don't teach the old customs at Hogwarts. The Rush as even better than I remembered!. I swear it is the only reason I come to the Hexam Ball.”

“You should come to the Avebury Races,” Lady Yaxley invited her granddaughter. “I’ve got a box near the rail. When the winning jockey throws the flower crown it’s every bit as thrilling as the Hexam Ball rush. I promise.”

“Dueling, racing, hunting, sailing, Solstice, Equinox, Samhain, May day, Yule - the High Festivals never seem to end! Same parties. Same people. Same silly dramas. It all bores me to tears and madness.”

“Come, come now Rita-”

“Seriously Nan! There are real problems in the world and all the leisure class seems to think about is their over priced heaps of crap, their over indulged lovers and their obsessive pursuit of trivial amusements! The waste of time and talent is obscene!”

“Some of us rich lazybones run profitable enterprises and sponsor charities between frivolous parities. Tonight for instance, a good portion of the proceeds from the gambling is going to the foundation that maintains Stonehenge, Avebury and our other heritage sites.”

“That’s a worthy cause desperately in need of support! So why throw an elaborate ball? Why not pass a sensible tax?”

“Please stop being so tiresomely middle class! It is easier to get people to part with their money when they think it is their own idea and they are enjoying themselves. A ball is fun. People hate taxes. Children like broccoli smothered in cheese, I like charity smothered in champagne and dancing!”

“Do you honestly believe all of this conspicuous consumption really necessary?”

“I don’t know about you Rita, but I certainly would not have donated a sack of gold galleons to a charity dart tournament hosted at the local pub!”

“I swear on Godric’s sword if Kain wasn’t competing I would go home right now.” Rita sighed. “But since I missed his last three matches, I can’t skip out tonight. It would break his big heart.”

“Kain’s here? I don’t recall seeing little Kain’s name on the line up.”

“He’s changed his fighting name from Juggernaut to Bane.”

“Bane indeed. I remember when little Kain was a red faced, wrinkled, raisin of a baby in Sharon’s arms. Had a little tuft of hair that stood up like a rooster’s comb. Cried like a wee kitten. Yes he did.”

“I can’t imagine Kain as a baby. He’s been broad as a barn my whole life. I would love to see that memory sometime. We lost all our pictures in the fire.”

“Your father was too scared to hold little Kain for the longest time. Kain’s whole body fit in just one of Kurtis-Kain’s hands. He favors Sharon more than you or little Kurtis ever have. Still has the most adorable smile. Just like my sweet Sharon. May her soul rest in peace eternal.”

“Only you would call that hairy bear adorable, Nan.”

“He is! I have not seen Kain compete since Budapest a year ago. After he won he brought me a pair of fresh ears with these lovely jade earrings in them as a token.”

Lady Yaxley pushed her hair away from her ears so Rita could see the earrings Kain had torn off someone’s head.

The jade figurines - five little green bats joined by little gold hoops wing to wing hanging from a frog shaped stud in her ears - were carved with life like intricate detail but horribly ugly.

Rita was very glad her elder brother had gifted the earrings to their grandmother instead of her. Not even Rita Skeeter would have worn the hideous dangling ear charms.

“Such a dear, sweet boy. I wear them whenever I have a flutter on the hippogriffs or a match; and I always win. I am going to put my money on little Kain to win it all. I hope my earrings bring him luck!”

“He’ll appreciate you wearing his gift. He’s such a marshmallow under all that headgear.”

The ladies emerged from the hidden staircase into an assembly of people waiting. Lady Lucretia was sorting her family, select friends and honored guest by precedence for the duelist procession into the ballroom.

Lady Lucretia was dragging people back and forth by the arm as if they were inanimate objects. After she arranged a group, she would stand back, see how they looked together, then moved them around again. Fabian and Gideon followed behind Lucretia soothing bruised egos and making jokes.

Lord Ignatius Prewitt and Bartemius Crouch Sr. were conducting a last minute confirmation of the identities and credentials of the assembled doctors before sending them into their patients.

As the guest of the Wine Moon Ball were all important people in one way or another, having the opportunity to treat their injuries was an excellent way for a doctor to increase the size of their private practice and improve their reputation.

It was also an excellent opportunity for an assassin to ply their deadly art, which was why Crouch Sr. and Prewitt were conducting a last minute vetting.

“Nan, look over there.” Rita Skeeter nodded in the direction of a group of people a little distance away. “Minister Fudge is holding Kurtis’ ear hostage. I’m sure he’ll come to you when Fudge is too drunk to notice he’s gone Nan.”

Fudge had a overly friendly hand on Kurtis’ shoulder while he gestured expressively with his other hand to his attentive wife and a small audience of Ministry of Magic people who kept looking around for a distraction that would justify their escape from Minister Fudge.

Kurtis’ eyes were drooping and he was trying to hide his yawns by raising his champagne flute pretending to sip his drink.

“Aaww look at my poor darling. Overworked, underpaid and completely unappreciated. If little Kurtis has to work Yule week again this year I’ll see Fudge bounced out of office and blacklisted from society. See if I don’t!”

“Nan, Kurtis does not like it when you meddle in his life. Remember?”

“I don’t like Fudge using my grandson as a cattle prod to herd Albus Dumbledore to the chopping block! If Fudge wants to pick a fight with the old bullshit-er in Scotland, he should be man enough to jump in the ring and face the horns!”

“Fudge has dirt on Dumbledore?”

“Fudge smells smoke and he’s trying to find the fire. He has sent little Kurtis to put a bit of stick about and see if Dumbledore jumps.”

“Oh really? It’s been a long while since anyone laid siege to Dumbledore’s ivory tower. If I recall correctly he sent the last dragon packing off the the south of France with his tail tucked between his legs.”

“Poor Abraxas Malfoy. He never recovered from the humiliation. He’s completely withdrawn from public life. Sees no one but family. Goes nowhere but to bed. Abraxas is why Fudge is using little Kain as his proxy. If it comes to nothing, little Kain will take the blame -”

“But if he finds something Fudge will take all the credit and be re-elected on a reform platform.”

“I can’t stand that odious little man! He’s slippery and foul as cold pig shit. To hear him tell it Fudge has no ambitions, no allegiances that influence his decisions and no enemies."

"Yet everyone who has ever opposed Minister Fudge has magically been removed from the picture.”

“We really let ourselves in for it when we let that half-blood son of swine climb the greasy pole! Tell me Rita, what kind of man marries a woman nicknamed Coco?”

“Did you know her name is legally Coco?” Rita whispered close to Lady Yaxley’s ear. “They named their daughters Maple, Caramel and Cinnamon? Caramel with a ‘K’. Cinnamon with an ‘S’?”

“No!” Lady Yaxley gasped.

“Yes!” Rita confirmed gleefully. “Isn’t it just delicious?”

When the ladies stopped giggling, Lady Yaxley continued,” run along and post your story. Your Aunt Ginger is saving a place for you and Romic, but if you happen to hear any juicy tidbits, don’t wait. Come tell me immediately. I like being the first in the know.”

“As if you don’t know every secret in England already Nan.”

“Sometimes I like to have my little suspicions confirmed - See the man beside Lord Prewitt over there by the doctors?”

“Be more specific.”

“Tall, dark and handsome with Narcissa Black clinging to him like a couture encrusted barnacle?”

Because dueling was a bloodsport each contestant was obliged to bring a their own doctor to attend to their medical needs. Any duelist whose medical attendant did not have the required certification was automatically disqualified.

By custom, because a lot of people got hurt during the Rush to dinner, the duelist’ doctors would proceed the duelist procession into dining room to heal the ball guest who were injured.

Narcissa Malfoy, her escort, Professor Slughorn and a half dozen other doctors stood beside Lord Prewitt speaking quietly to other each other. Lady Narcissa and her escort were clearly the center of attention.

“I wish that man was my weekend husband. Look at those bedroom eyes. I could slit my wrist with those cheek bones. Of course he’s with Narcissa Malfoy. That Barbie bitch has everything!”

“But don’t you just LOVE Narcissa’s new look? I don’t think I’ve ever seen her in trousers."

Narcissa was wearing her sister’s tuxedo, but since she had more curves than Andromeda the fit was just barely on the chic side of slutty.

Narcissa had pulled her long hair up into a ponytail. The black and white of her hair twisted like a two tone candy cane that flicked back and forth when she walked like a tail just above the lush plum of her arse.

The acid green heels made her and Severus the same height. Her perfect white teeth were framed by lush lips are red as vampire’s kiss, her almost clear grey eyes traced in cat like sweeps of black kohl.

 "Or colors that were not vomit soft pastels! Mr. Mystery must have fucked the fairy princess right out of her!”

 

"Narcissa wasted no time finding a boy toy to play with after Luc's antics."

“That is not Narcissa’s new boy toy, child. That is Severus Tobias Snape now Severus Serpens Black-Prince.”

“Wait a damn minute. You mean to tell me, Regulus Black is married to THAT man and he chose to hump Lucius Malfoy? Is he CRAZY?"

“I suppose it is something of a tradition to keep...affairs...strictly in the family... After all Regulus’ mother and father are first cousins.”

“The modern vernacular is _swinging_ Grand-mama.”

“How crass. Sounds like a combination of square dancing, and sex.”

“Dosey doe in deed...He looks familiar."

"He should look familiar. He has the trademark looks of his house, and their face is minted on half the gold and silver coins circulating in Europe. That child is Dr. Severus Black Prince. He was Severus Snape until he married Regulus Black."

The gentlemen beside her was not wearing a dress robe but seemed completely at ease and totally comfortable with his state of under-dress.

From the side his striking patrician profile peaked from the satin curtain of his long blue black hair. He looked like a young Caesar observing the antics of the Senate with disdainful amusement.

He wore a black on black: a silk shirt unbuttoned enough to reveal a glimpse of firm pale pectoral muscle, under a black velvet vest with jet buttons and and matching trousers. The ensemble was exquisitely tailored to highlight his long lean legs, high pert arse, and trim waist.

"Why have I never heard of him? Was the name change because of a shady past? What do you know about him so far?”

"Recently returned to England. Brilliant. Rich. Anti-social. One child. A son named Herodotus. A precocious little parselmouth who likes to dabble at potions and nick wands when his parents are not watching.”

“Adorable. What's up with the name change? Snape to Prince I mean?"

"He's a _Principe_."

"Wait. You mean he’s a bonafide Principe?”

“As in a titled, legitimate member of the Most Regal and Ancient House of Principe? Yes dear, that’s exactly what I mean.”

“He certainly has the profile. Which branch does Severus descend from?”

“His mother’s father is Stavros Grand Duke of Venice, Prince of Pompeii. His mother’s maternal-father was the illustrious Edmond Dantes, Comte de Monte Cristo, Prince of Monaco. I’m sure you’ve heard of them?”

“Hesta’s tits! How is there an English Principe and I didn’t know?”

“Nobody knew until the Fidelis was lifted. Apparently Comtesse Donatella Eileen was secretly exiled after Prince Edmond’s death.”

“She reconciled with the family?”

“They say she’s dead. Stavros has assuaged his guilt by bringing Severus back into the family fold without forgiving his errant daughter and losing face.”

“What a precious old rascal.”

“I knew Edmond Dantes. He loved his daughter more than anything else in life. Stavros Principe had best pray Edmond’s ghost never materializes. Or there will be hell to pay. Mark my words.”

“Magnificent Shand must be positively thrilled to have yet another contender for the throne of Pompeii nipping at his heels.”

“From what I hear, Maggie Shand couldn’t be more delighted with his newly minted nephew. Severus has no interest in Pompeii. Has in fact forsworn his place in the succession in favor of a private life.”

“Must be some private life to give up crowns and arse kissing courtiers.”

“My thoughts exactly. Although his son Hero could still inherit. If you have a moment, after you post your story, dig a little would you? Whatever Severus’ secrets might be, they won’t be completely hidden with all the different interesting people here. People like to talk.”

“And we like to listen...I don’t understand why are you asking me to look into this? Don’t you usually have Aunt Ginger do the society snooping?”

“Ginger tried. She hasn’t heard anything I haven’t heard all night. Would you please have a go at it? You have such an uncanny knack for ferreting out secrets.”

Usually Rita Skeeter did no other investigating her social equals. Most of them were horribly boring or hopelessly dim. Few of them could help Rita with her personal vendettas or professional ambition to become the next editor and chief of the Daily Prophet.

However she had promised her grandmother to make an effort, and knowing the secrets of a man close to Shand the most magnificent black hearted bastard of the Immortal Courts could prove very useful.

“Anything for you Nan. I’ll see what I can do.”

“That’s my girl.”

Lord Cecil Yaxley approached Margarita and Lady Yaxley from behind. He caught them both about the waist and hugged them tightly to his sides.

“Found you! Margarita! Helene! I was about to assemble a search party!”

“Cecil!” Lady Helene cried turning in her husband’s arm. Cecil released Rita so he could hold his wife with both hands on her waist. “Why do you keep toddling off? You awful man! I looked for you everywhere!”

“Why were you looking for me? I wasn't lost! You’re the nail sticking out while Lucy Prewitt’s on a hammer spree. Come on love, let’s get in place before she puts us in place.” Lord Cecil Yaxley began steering his wife toward the procession.

“Run along now Margarita. Ginger and Eustis are holding a chair for you at our usual table,” Lord Yaxley commanded, giving Rita Skeeter a quick kiss on her cheek and a gentle nudge in the direction of the dining room.

Lord Cecil Yaxley had the distracted manner of a man used to chasing after his lovely wife while a horde of children scrambled for his divided attention. Rita Skeeter agreed with her grandmother, without house elves her mother, aunts and uncles would have starved to death.

Thank goodness for money and magic.

“I need to hold on to this woman of mine with both hands before she slips off again.”

“Will you chase after me if I do?” Lady Yaxley asked in a sly voice.

“I’ll chase you. I’ll catch you. I’ll give you a reason not to run off again,” Lord Yaxley leered thrusting his hips at his wife suggestively. “If you do run, I guarantee it’ll be with a limp.”

Lady Yaxley giggled and slapped her husband’s arm. “Cecil!”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Cecil Yaxley growled kissing his wife’s neck, then shoulder, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Say my name again.”

“Cecil! You pest -”

“I’m your best pest. The bug in your bed. The nit in your hair. The tick on your arse-”

“I’ll just go post my story now. See you latter Grandpa, Nan -” Rita turned and hurried away from her grandparents shaking her head. Cecil and Helene Yaxley had always been shameless.

Even after a lifetime, it still felt weird to Rita Skeeter to watch her grandparents necking in public like teenagers. Most of the people in the procession knew the Yaxleys well enough to not bat an eye at their antics.

When Lady Prewitt came by, she pushed the couple where she wanted them to be, without trying to break them apart and moved on.

Rita Skeeter hiked up her dress a little so she could quickly mount the stairs leading up from the ballroom back to the entrance hall.

When she reached the top of the stairs, where no one could see her Rita slipped off her heels and sighed in relief. She rubbed each foot briefly to ease the hurt. She had forgotten her Dr. Bacchus Shoe Pillow Inserts, and her poor pinched toes felt like a giant had trod on them repeatedly while dancing the polka.

True to their roots, the Prewitts were connoisseurs in the old sense of the word. The multi-generational collectors of rare beautiful antiquities had assembled an eclectic collection of sculptures, idols, carvings and friezes which they displayed all over the house.

The biggest pieces in the Prewitt collection - aside from the dancers who held up the dome of the ballroom that were salvaged from a villa in sunken Atlantis - were displayed in the entrance hall. The mile long entrance hall was lined with ancient bust and statues.

The artistic skill and scale of the works on display - massive pieces stone pride off the walls of temples, and gouged out of ruined civilizations - was arresting.

The entry hall with its stark white walls and floors, bathed in fading natural light from above through a ceiling of artfully undulating murano glass resembled the antiquities gallery at a major metropolitan museum.

Rita felt small and unimportant as she walked around the base of a cthulhu carved from a single piece of black volcanic glass tall as a small office building. The setting sunlight sliding over the polished black surface of the squid headed water monster made it seem alive. Moving.

Dozens of writhing tentacles circled its open fanged mouth. It’s four strong arms were pulling its large muscular body up the side of a blue sarsen stone - the key stone of Hexam Hall’s wards - stolen from Stonehenge when the foundation of the original Hexam Hall was laid.

A pair of half open bat wings arched from its broad back ready to launch creature into the air. Semi precious stones inside hollow pit of eyes burning with the light of long dead, yet undying evil ringed the creature's head in a crown of vigilance.

Rita shuddered.

Every time she came to Hexam Hall the statue Prewitt family kept in their entrance hall facing the front doors stopped Rita in her tracks. There was no getting used to the monstrosity.

She stood in the dark shadow of the beast, as she did every time she visited Hexam Hall and wished with all her might that she would never in a thousand life times be faced with the living version of the Etrigan.

Rita was so entranced by the size and horror of statue - she jerked - startled when she heard footsteps approaching.

Her journalistic curiosity kicked in. Instead of coming out of the shadows she moved closer to them, crawling up onto the statue’s base to hide amongst the froth topped waves of a boiling sea carved in black glass. She could not see them, but she could hear them just fine.

“Alright this is far enough Malfoy. I’m not traipsing after you all over this bloody big house.”

“The floo room has privacy wards-”

“What could you possibly have to say to me you’d want to keep secret? I’m no friend of yours and you’re certainly no friend of mine.”

“Let the man talk. He would not risk being seen with us if it weren’t important.”

“You simple minded git can’t you see this is a set up? Are you in on it?”

“Lower your wand and calm down. You know the Prewitts don’t allow the Aurors to spy in here.”

“What did the Ministry offer you to sell us out? A pardon? Full immunity? Answer me!”

“No one would pay for you. I would have to bribe the body snatchers in the Narrows of Nockturn Alley to chop your mangy hide into demon kibble.”

“Fuck you, high and mighty Malfoy-”

“Why are you angry at me? I did not make the Dark Lord vanish into thin air without so much as a by your leave -”

“You’re the one who sold us the magic beans aren’t you? If not for your sterling recommendation we would never have given that snake eyed son of a bitch the time of day, let alone let him mark us!”

“Don’t blame me -”

“We followed him because of you! We trusted him because of you!”

“Want to wash your hands of us now it's all gone pear shaped? Blood don’t wash out Malfoy! Best believe that!”

“ - I’m barely scratching out a living! My wife’s scared to death she’ll never see me again everytime I leave the house. My kids get clothes out a fucking charity box -”

“-have a job in the Ministry! When they took her in for questioning where were you?”

“You think just because I’m not sniveling like a craven cur I’m not in just as much danger as you? I’ve lost just as much as you have -”

“You got a cushy government job! I work for stinking muggles! They pay me in PAPER MONEY!”

“I can tell by your clothes you’ve still got your fortune! Ministry’s frozen my vaults pending the outcome of trial! I can’t withdraw so much as a bronze knut. I out to beat my gold out of your arse-”

“I thought you two wanted to hear me out?”

“No! I want to tell you off! You’ve ruined my life!”

“I want to dig your heart out with my teeth! I’d like nothing better than to count you blood drop by drop as it falls from a little thousand cuts for a thousand long days -”

“Don’t waste my fucking time Luc -”

“What you have to say better satisfy me more than sex or I swear on Slytherin’s scale covered arse -”

Lucius cleared his throat. “A narrow window of opportunity has present itself. If you’re interested in hearing details, meet me, with your spouse by the gates of Hexam Hall when the ball ends. If you not, do not worry that I will trouble myself with either of you ever again.”

“Wait. That’s it? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“That’s the secret message you dragged me halfway around this big arse fucking house to tell me?”

“ You jumped up arrogant son of a-”

“If you attack me inside the house wards of Hexam Hall you know what will happen, so settle down...I’ve said all I intend to say to on this matter at this time. If you want in, you know what to do. Now excuse me gentlemen, my wife is waiting.”

Rita listened intently as Lucius footsteps echoed down the hall back toward the ballroom.

“What do you think?”

“I think I’m going to kill him. If Lucius fucking Malfoy is jerking my chain - after all the shit he’s done. I’m going to fucking kill him. I’m going to fucking take my time and enjoy watching him die one day at a time. For a year...Want to help?”

“Sure. We should give him to the body snatchers down in the Narrows piece by piece. Malfoy’s shit gold. He’s got to be worth at least a gold galleon a pound."

"That should be enough gold to cover the blood-debt to Narcissa."

"After the shit Lucius pulled tonight with Regulus, she might let us keep the money and pay us a bonus.”

The two men laughed quietly as they walked off down the hall and Rita Skeeter held her breath until she could not hear any more sound. Then she slide out of her hiding place and made her way to the Floo room off to the left of the front doors.

She floo-ed the office and dictated her story to the copy editor. Then she sat down on a bench to think. Lucius Malfoy was an evil SOB who Rita Skeeter knew for a fact had killed a lot of people while serving Voldemort. What ever was coming, no doubt, Lucius Malfoy deserved it and more.

On the other hand the blonde son of an egg sucking poxy swine had a wife and small child. Rita Skeeter was not in a hurry to pass on the sorrow of a murdered father and a heartbroken mother to some innocent little kid.

Then there was Margarita Skeeter nee Mucilber's burning journalist curiosity: what exactly was Malfoy offering? And to whom was he offering it? If she tipped off the Aurors she would never know what Malfoy was up to.

However...if she waited, watched and maybe she would crack a story so big her grandmother would name her editor in chief sooner rather than later.


	11. Chapter 11

After a binding agreement was struck and sealed by an unbreakable vow; Lady Longbottom strutted out of the card room without a backward glance at the Black cousins like an aged lounge singer exiting the stage to a standing ovation. 

“I bet she was a brass ball breaker in her prime.”

“Old Man Bottom must have been quite the cowboy to ride that old hell nag.”

“Hhmm,” Regulus hummed in agreement with his cousin Andromeda’s assessment of Lady Longbottom. ”

“Probably jumped in front of the avada kadavara just to away from her. I would definitely choose a swift death if I found myself married to Augusta Longbottom.” 

“Agreed.” Regulus sighed resignedly glancing at his cousin’s profile. “I suppose it’s time for a bit of exposition eh Mimi?”

“Shall we retire to the bar?” Andromeda asked gesturing toward the bar along the wall. 

The bartenders, card dealers and all the Hexam Ball guest except the Black cousins had all gone to the dining room. 

“I believe drinking hard liquor is customary after you’ve made a life binding magical contract.”

Regulus and Andromeda took seats at the bar side by side. Andromeda poured her younger cousin vodka straight. He drank it all. She poured him another. Regulus took a sip, licked his lips appreciatively and he started talking in a slow, tired voice.

“You were long gone when things went to shit over here." He glanced up at Andromeda catching her eye. Suddenly Regulus looked ten times older than his age, hunched over the bar on his elbows. Andromeda perceived a wealth of experience flickering in his light grey eyes like shadows. "How much have you heard about Lord Voldemort and his Death-Eaters?”

“Enough. You should have known better than to follow behind a megalomaniac poser. Didn't you learn anything from living with your mother?"

"Now that you mention it, I must admit Voldemort was a lot like my mother."

"How deep were you in Reggie?” 

“Up to my eyeballs. Lucky I wasn’t caught or killed. The Ministry hit as hard as we did - mostly the wrong people. Independent thinkers who would not be cowed into believing light makes right! Families who kept to the old ways. People innocent of practicing real dark magic."

"The usual suspects," Andromeda summarized.

"The Minister of Magic couldn't spot a real dark wizards if he had a third eye! It was the Auror's cack-handed bumbling that really swelled Voldemort's ranks. Not a national outbreak of raging blood-fever.”

Regulus made his confession to his liquor. He rolled the cut crystal old fashioned glass between his hands, staring into it as if what he wanted to tell Andromeda was written in his drink.

“Like your friends? What were their names again? Emily?”

“Emeline and Samuel. They weren’t the only ones who went missing after being questioned by Aurors. They were the ones just the ones I knew personally.”

“It was never investigated? Something that widespread should have made the papers.”

“The Aurors made a big show of their investigations: their progress was splashed all over the front of the Prophet. In the end, the Ministry blamed the Death-Eaters if you can believe that.”

“But we don’t murder our own kind without first declaring a blood-feud. We aren’t muggles.”

“Haven’t you noticed Mimi? Most of the British wizards here tonight are either muggle-born or the half-blood children of peasants who don’t know or care about our customs. All the magic and lore they know they learned at Hogwarts.”

“Stop trying to snowball me Reggie. You didn’t join a terrorist blood supremacist group to bring enlightenment to the ignorant masses. You murdered innocent people who just happened to have parentage you didn’t like.”

“I know what you’re thinking, Mimi, but it really wasn’t like that. At least not in the beginning. His early followers only fought Aurors. To protect our kind from government sponsored extermination.”

“Bullshit.”

“You know me Mimi. I’m not a blood bigot. I like Theo. I’d never do anything to hurt my cousin-niece. She’s of my blood.”

But she is not pure blood Andromeda thought. Her Aunt Walburga was a raging blood bigot, and Regulus was her favorite child. Andromeda seriously doubted Regulus was not tainted by his mother’s opinions. 

“Why did you leave the Dark Lord’s service?”

“Voldemort made Jack the Ripper look like a dabbler in human pain and corpse desecration. Despite what my rugged good looks suggest. I have a squeamish side it does not take much to squeak. ”

“How long did it take you to figure out the crazy man was crazy?”

“Much longer than it should have...Towards the end the man was barely human, he looked like a half melted wax doll and literally reeked of blood. It was disgusting.”

Andromeda, half turned on her stool so she could scrutinize her cousin’s profile let a finger trace the rim of her own drink. The fine crystal made a fine high musical hum like fairy song at twilight. 

“You didn’t just leave the Death-eaters. Nobody left the Death-eaters and lived. I know that much. The dark mark -”

“Severus took care of it, for me.” Regulus exposed both his arms for Andromeda to inspect, pushing his sleeves up past his elbows. She grabbed his wrist and turned both his forearms over so he could see his whole arm.

“How?” She asked running her fingers over his unblemished skin. 

Regulus withdrew one of his arms from Andromeda so he could drink half his vodka in a gulp. 

“Voldemort was murdering people to splinter his soul. To make Horcruxes. I stole one. Severus used it to get the mark off me.”

“Severus used the Dark Lord’s Horcrux? He manipulated a pieces of he-who-must-not-be-named’s soul?”

“If you saw him do it, you’d think it was dead easy...It’s not...I tried to do it for a bloke I owed a favor. Almost killed him and myself. Blew the shack to shit and shingles. It was a mess.”

There was dark magic and then their was stark crazy. Immorality was a curse. It was one of the first things dark wizards taught their apprentices: all men must die, because the cost of achieving true immortality was the immortal soul.

“Where is the Horcrux now?”

Regulus tapped the gaudy amulet around his neck with one finger, and Andromeda recoiled in disgust almost falling off her bar stool. 

“You’re WEARING that thing? A piece of the Dark Lord’s soul? Are you MAD?”

“Don’t worry. It’s harmless. At least until Severus activates it,” Regulus explained, he filled his tumbler with more vodka and chugged the clear liquor like he was thirsty. Then filled the tumbler again.

“Why doesn’t it hurt him?”

“Cause my old man is a fucking genius who's been studying black magic since nappies and milk. Severus’s read every damned book restricted section of Hogwarts. He quotes the Necronomicon Ex-mortis from memory. In Arabic.” 

“Who joined the dark army first you or your Black-Prince?”

“Severus was never a Death-eater. Lucius tried to recruit him. He wasn’t interested.”

“Really? From what you’ve said it seems like him and the Dark Lord could be happy flatmates in hell.”

Regulus shook his head. 

“Severus’ best friend was a mudblood - at least until she hooked up with one of Sirius’ loser friends - and Severus thought he was a half-blood until the fidelis on his family lifted. Severus thought the Dark Lord might want to kill him.”

“You are confusing me. You were a Death-eater. Severus believed the Dark Lord wanted to kill him and he still married you? Why?”

“He didn’t know. Not at first, anyway.”

An epiphany struck Andromeda like a slap in the face. She jerked with the force of it. 

“You were not in love with Severus - you were trying to lure him to the Dark Lord,” Andromeda said slowly. “You seduced Severus after Lucius failed to recruit him.”

“It wasn’t hard,” Regulus confessed guiltily avoiding eye contact with Andromeda. “Severus' personal life was a disaster before we started courting. I heard about some of it from spying on Sirius and his friends.”

“How the hell was Sirius involved?”

“Sirius and that little gang delinquents he left us for used to make Severus’ life hell on earth at school. After I got my orders, it took two years and an intervention from Narcissa before Severus would give me the time of day.”

“Severus and Narcissa are friends?”

“Severus was one of Narcissa's projects.”

Andromeda could easily imagine. Her sister had the heart of a gardener. She liked to plant, cultivate - flowers, ideas, investments, people - and watch things bloom under her nurturing care. 

Narcissa had a cultishly loyal coterie of former proteges she called her dear, little friends. There was no doubt in Andromeda’s mind that Narcissa was the reason Lucius had escaped prosecution for his association with the Death-Eaters.

Once Narcissa got over her hysterics and did as Andromeda had advised her. Andromeda had no doubt in her mind that her sister would have Lucius Malfoy sorted in a matter of days. If not hours. 

“When they met Severus was a snaggle toothed, yellow skinned, greasy haired snarling shadow lurker no one but Sirius and his bully boys noticed. When she finished Severus still snarled, but he did so in dulcet tones and nice clothes. Severus is Narcissa' magnum opus.”

“Which made the Dark Lord take notice.”

“The man was like a magpie. He wanted to horde all the shiny things he could find. New and improved Severus was shiny indeed. He sent Lucius. Severus was so flattered by the attention of such a debonair man of the world, he fell into a blushing crush. Lucius, the boob, bungled it. He prefers pure-bloods from the social registry.”

“Then you waltzed right in after and swept Severus off his feet.”

“I wore him down with a persistent assault of romantic gestures and emotional coercion. He made me wait for our wedding night to do more than hold hands. I had to pretend to be okay with that. Years latter and we haven’t had sex yet.” 

“But you’re married! For years and years married!”

“I know I’m married. I was there when it happened. I’ve got the ring to prove it," Regulus said sarcastically and held up the hand with his wedding ring for Andromeda to see.

“Wait. Where did your son come from? I assumed he was your biological child. He could not look more like you if he tried! I figured with a kid like that Severus must think you hung the moon and gave him the stars to match.”

“You saw him? Handsome little bugger isn’t he? Hero’s all black alright, except the eyes...but he’s not mine or Severus’. We blood adopted him...from Sirius.”

“Sirius never had a steady lover in his life. His bed saw more arse than the loo at Victoria Station.”

“Hero was left on our doorstep in the middle of the night in basket like the baby Moses with a note. I've no idea who his mother is or where she's got to.”

“And that was enough for you to adopt him as your own? You hate Sirius! Severus hates Sirius!”

“Severus doesn't know Sirius is the father, that must stay a secret between us. I lead Severus to believe Bellatrix had an affair, and Hero is her bastard." 

"He believed that? Bellatrix is devoted to her husband. She went to prison when she could have escaped because she would not leave him to face the Aurors alone." 

"That story is a lot more plausible than Sirius leaving his baby on our doorstep."

"I can't believe you took in Sirius kid, no questions asked."

"I admit, I wouldn't piss on Sirius if he was on fire, but Hero was just a little baby. We take care of our own.”

“That we do,” Andromeda agreed not quite believing Regulus. Sirius and Regulus had never got along. When they fought only Lord Orion had the power to break up their grudge matches. 

Erasing Bellatrix’s memory would cover up Regulus’ lie about Hero’s parentage. It would not eliminate Sirius’ knowledge of his son. Andromeda made a mental note to go to Azkaban at her first opportunity. That very night if possible.

Sirius was a right bastard, but he was family. Andromeda was not going to turn a blind eye to the threat Regulus posed to Sirius’ life and sanity.

“So...why haven’t you and Severus had sex?”

“I did not know someone taught Voldemort legilimency. He discerned that I was never going to bring Severus to kneel before the black throne. Death-Eaters snatched him on our wedding night. It never would’ve happened if mum let us use Graymalkin Castle,” Regulus said bitterly. 

“How did you find him?”

“I stole this locket. Used it to find Voldemort and by extension where Severus was being held captive. When I found Severus, he wasn’t exactly in the mood to rip his clothes off and bounce on my penis in conjugal joy.”

“I thought you said you couldn’t use the Horcrux without endangering yourself?”

“I had Kreacher and Criatura to manipulate it. House-elves have a high tolerance for dark magic. Not immunity. But a high tolerance. It killed Criatura, but Kreacher survived. While we were hiding Severus removed my dark mark and Sirius dropped off Hero.”

“Then you fled the country?”

“If Sirius could find us anybody could. We wasn’t waiting around for the Dark Lord to appear on the doorstep with the milk bottles were we?” Regulus slurred slightly. The vodka was catching up with him.

“How does Severus manipulate the Horcrux without getting hurt?”

“Making a Horcrux is Soul Magic and that’s is right down their with Necromancy, Demonology and the like. Part of the reason it's forbidden is that it corrupts. Fucks you up inside and out.”

“Well duh.”

“Shut it. Severus worked out a way to circumvent the toxic nature of black magic. He calls it the Vestal Virgin Paradox: the only way to safely perform dark magic without losing your soul is to have pure intentions and a pure virtue.”

“In plain English please.”

“You can’t perform dark magic for personal gain, and you must be a utterly, utterly chaste. Like a nun and then some.”

“That makes no fucking sense!”

“Which is why. It. Is. A. PARADOX,”Regulus replied with the terse careful enunciation of a drunk. He tugged the tie out of his hair and scratched his scalp. “Severus can raise the dead, summon demons, make it rain fire and blood - without risk his to eternal soul so long as he does it for someone else and is a virgin at the time.”

“That’s utter bullshit!”

“I didn’t write the rules of magic! I don’t know why it works. It just does, okay?"

"Isn't it ironic? You all but sold your soul to the evil-V for the privilege of kneeling at his feet in abject subjection when you had Severus. Dark lord even greater than the Un-named one, who only wants your love."

"It's definitely my fucked up karma to be in love with and married to the richest, most powerful dark wizards to ever live, but not be able to touch him sexually.”

“Why don’t you? You’ve got the mark off your arm. You’re rich. You love your husband, and from the look of your kid he must love you too. Go live happily ever after and make more babies.”

“I plan to as soon as this is all over, but that’s a long way off. See Voldemort made more than one Horcrux. We’ve got to find all and destroy them all to kill him permanently. Otherwise he’ll eventually come back.”

“Let Dumbledore handle it. He’s the one prancing around in red robes and gold spangles claiming to be a champion of the light. Fighting Dark Lords is what they pay that old crack pot for.”

“According to Sirius the Dark Lord killed Hero’s mother and is after him too. He’s after my whole family: me, Severus and Hero. So I have to kill Voldemort before he comes after me and mine.”

“Which brings us to why you’re keen to get Bellatrix out of prison.”

“She and her husband were both close to Voldemort. She might know where more of his Horcruxes are, and if we wipe her mind - as old Augusta suggested - she won’t be crazy enough to go rejoin the Death-eaters.”

“I’ll buy that...and why were you making an arse of yourself with Lucius?”

“I don’t know.”

“Regulus we have a deal! Honor it. Or else.”

“I HONESTLY DON’T KNOW! - Severus found out something. Something he can’t tell me because of his Hippocratic Oath.”

“What tell me, exactly what he told you. Word for word.”

“He told me I HAVE to provoke Narcissa into invoking her rights as Lady Malfoy or she and Draco are royally fucked. Help me out here will you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Editing the story. Please be paient.


	12. Chapter 12

Unlike every other fireplace Arthur Weasley had ever floo -ed through, the hearth in Hexam Hall’s reception room had no soot, ash, char marks kindling, or logs. When the green flames extinguished around his family there was not so much as a speck of dust left in the stone alcove.

“Well,” Molly said brightly clutching Arthur’s arm. She was beaming with happy anticipation. “Here we are! What do you think children?”

This was an immensely important night for Arthur’s wife. The entire Prewett family attended the annual Wine Moon Ball at Hexam Hall. This was the first time Molly was invited to gather with her family coven since she eloped with Arthur. The Prewitts had never met the Weasley children.

“It’s very grand,” Percy said with approving satisfaction as if he had finally, at long last, come home. Percy was the first to step out of the fireplace into the reception room, followed by the rest of the Weasley family. Percy took an inspecting circuit around the oval room.

He ran a proprietary hand over the silver gilded furniture upholstered in blue velvet, the life like bronze statues of magical beast before going to stand before the Prewitt family coat of arms was carved into the stone of the wall opposite. It was tall and wide as the doors of the Hogwarts dining hall.

“What’s all this then Mum?” Ronald asked tugging Bill closer to the wall to see a silver short handled warhammer still stained with black spots of old blood.

“These are the Hexam Hall Victory Walls. All old family homes have them,” Molly told her children. “The Prewitts have a long history of dueling excellence. The victor of a duel can keep his opponent’s weapons if the ransom is not paid.”

Each of the trophies displayed in the room had a little bronze plaque with the name of the enemy it came from, the Prewett who defeated them and the date of the fight. The Victory Walls of the reception room were an eloquent warning to Hexam Hall visitors.

“Wow Mum, you used to live here?” Bill asked in amazement looking around. He was holding Ron’s hand.

“No love. I was raised in Pryor House, in London. Hexam Hall is the family seat. The home of the Lord and Lady Prewitt,” Molly explained. She had a hand on each of her twin’s shoulders. Guiding Fred and George away from the medieval weapons and broken wands mounted to the walls.

“Mummy! Mummy!” Ginny cried excitedly. “Look at this!”

The family group drifted away from the weapons on the wall to where Charlie, Ginny and Percy stood in front of the immense heraldic shield.

In the middle was a silver greek temple with three ionic columns on a field of royal blue. The shield was flanked by two silver big horned rams standing on their hind legs. Beneath the heraldic shield the words ‘Magis Pecuniae Magis Portentia’ were carved into a ribbon on rock.

“Mummy what’s that mean?” Ginny asked pointing up at the family motto.

“More money. More power,” Charlie translated for his little sister. He was holding Ginny’s hand.

“Very Slytherin. How ever did you end up in Gryffindor with Dad, Mum?” Bill asked.

Before Molly could answer, her younger son cut in.

“Why come we -” Fred began.

“How come we,” Percy corrected.

“Why have we never been invited here before?” Charlie finished for the three of them.

“Grandmothers Fleda and Flavia wouldn’t stand for it,” answered Gideon Prewett. He was lounging against the side of the fireplace twirling his wand between his fingers.

The Weasley family turned to look with wide eyes at the man they had not noticed before. Gideon Prewett was tall and lean with bright blue eyes and copper gold hair like all of Molly’s sons. He wore dark grey dress robes with a light blue ascot held in place by a family crest pin.

“The old tabbies were furious your mum not only joined Gryffindor House at school, she broke her betrothal to marry into dignified poverty. Thankfully for all involved they rest in eternal peace. My Da is your mum’s godfather and Lord Prewett; so you lot are welcome to come home now.”

“You look like Fred or George!” Ronald exclaimed. “But old!”

Gideon threw back his head and laughed. “I like your brood cousin Molly! They’re tactless but cute enough to get away with it.”

Gideon pushed off the fireplace. He approached the Weasley family with open arms. “Give us a hug my bonny dolly Molly!”

“Giddy!” Molly cried happily flinging herself into Gideon Prewett’s arms and kissing his cheek. “Oh I missed your ugly mug!”

“I know you did! You went and made two more of me!” Gideon lifted her off her feet and swung her around twice before setting her down.

“Where’s Bean?”

“Down in the garden. Mum’s set up the maze for the kids tonight. I popped up to the house to let you and Maggie Mulciber in the floo.”

“Who’s Maggie Mulciber?”

“You wouldn’t know her. She was a year behind me at Hogwarts. Sporting girl - wicked with a beater bat. How many of your lot have you sent off to school?”

“Half plus one. Just the youngest two at home now. Oh! Let me introduce you. Gideon Prewett may I present my children,” Molly said with pride pointing out each child. “This is Charlie, Bill, Percy, Fred, George, Ron and Ginny. Of course you know my husband Arthur-”

Gideon ignored Arthur completely, walking past him without a glance. He dropped down to his knees so he was of a height with Molly’s younger children. “Hullo cousins! I’ve waited a long, long time to meet you. Can I have a hug please?”

The children shuffled forward slowly glancing uncertainly at their parents until they were in the circle of Gideon's arms. Once the little Weasleys were close enough Gideon started whispering spells. His arms extended long enough to capture all the children his securely grasp.

Gideon lifted the Weasley children up like a bundle of shrieking, wriggling sticks and started staggering around under the weight of his burden. “You don’t have to ward the floo. I am expecting Maggie Mulciber any minute. See you at dinner Molls!”

“Wait! Where are you going with my children Gideon? I want to be the one to introduce them to the family!”

“No worries! Mum wants all the children to go play in the garden till dinner. Dr. Black-Prince is running the most way out game of tag you’ve ever seen. The kid’s table is still in the breakfast room, in case you’re wondering. KENT!”

A house elf appeared with a pop. “Young master?”

“Drop me off in the garden please. Take Molly up to get changed for the ball. Then fetch me back here when Ms. Mulciber fire calls.”

“But I am dressed -” Molly protested.

“Don’t be absurd Molly. We aren’t going to let you be seen in public dressed like -” Gideon rebuke was cut off when the house elf Kent made him and all of Molly’s children disappear.

Molly turned to Arthur with an encouraging smile. As a sign of things to come, the first meeting with Molly’s family in years was not very promising.

“Giddy did not mean anything by that, Arthur. You know Giddy.” Molly stroked one of Arthur’s arms consolingly. “He’s full of highspirits -”

“He’s full of a very high opinion of himself and the Prewitts. That’s for sure.”

“Arthur, we agreed,” Molly wheedled. “If anyone is awful to the children we’ll leave immediately.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be the problem.”

“Just give them a chance. My family loves me -”

“They love you so much they haven’t come near you in years.”

“We both know why that is,” Molly said sharply. She took a deep breath with her eyes closed, held it for a count of ten then released it slowly. “If they are dreadful to you, we’ll just go home. We won’t be rude. We’ll use a code word, ummm pink elephants, and excuse ourselves.”

“I could just tell you: Molly your family’s being a bunch of stuffy snobs. I think I’d rather have a night in,” Arthur pointed out.

Molly frowned at him. “This was your idea Arthur. I got excited about coming tonight because I thought you were on board with reconnecting with my family. I’ve put up with your family for years. The least you could do is return the favor for one night!”

Arthur sighed and looked down at his feet. “I don’t dislike your family Molly. They dislike me.”

The house elf Kent reappeared and magically transported the Weasleys to a guest bedroom; it was larger than the first floor of the Weasley’s house.

The bed was made of stone: the headboard was a Prewett ram’s head with curled horns and the legs of the bed had cloven hooves. Across from the bed was a lady’s vanity with a three panel looking glass flanked by the open doors to a closet and a bathroom.

There was a lounge area with a massive fireplace, tall bookshelves crammed with leather bound volumes, tufted leather chesterfield sofas, red brown mahogany tables and a herd of porcelin rams frolicing on a idlylic alpine hillside in a diorama on a side table.

There was a dining area with a blue silk slip covered chairs and oval table was before the wall of floor to ceiling windows. It was long enough to comfortably seat Molly, Arthur and all their children with room or friends.

Clothes for Molly and Arthur hovered near the three way mirror by the bathroom door. A set of immaculate black dress robes with a white bowtie, vest, shirt and polished shoes floated for Arthur.

A floor skimming empire waist gown of pleated dark grey satin with a sheer silvery chiffon cape draping from the shoulders connected to platinum cuff bracelets hung in the air out for Molly. Her clothing included silver flats, a platinum brooch and sparking blue diamonds earrings.

“ohhHH!” Molly said delighted taking the dress into her hands. She held it out at arm’s length examining every detail then held it up her body and turned toward the full length mirror. Her tiff with Arthur forgotten.

“This is a Bella Zabini gown! I saw one just like this on the cover model of September’s Enchantment Magazine! Isn’t it divine Arthur?”

“Enchanting.”

Molly lay the dress down on the bed with the same care she handled her babies and picked up the jewelry.

“Arthur, these are my Grandmother Edie’s things. Edie was my father Eric’s mother,” Molly reminded Arthur. “I have not seen them in years!”

Molly held out the jewelry for her husband to examine. “Those stones were picked to match Edie’s eyes by my Grandfather Jakob. He had the brooch crafted by his brother Max. He was a world famous jeweler with shops in Berlin, Boston and on Bond Street!”

“It’s a word,” Arthur said looking closely at the brooch. “What does geliebte mean?”

“Beloved. In German.” Molly clutched the hand full of treasures to her chest and blinked back tears. “My father wanted me to wear these things on my wedding day.”

“Oh Molly, I’m so sorry -”

“These things and a half burned photograph were the only keepsakes my father was able to scavenge from the rubble of his childhood home years after his family was killed in an air raid.”

“I’m glad you have them, since they mean so much to you. Where to you suppose they’ve been all this time?”

Molly shrugged. “In grandmother Fleda’s keeping with the rest of my inheritance, I suppose. She kept track of the heirlooms and household. Grandmother Flavia ran the businesses.”

“Do you think there is any chance the rest of your inheritance will be returned to you? Perhaps sometime soon?”

“I don’t know!” Molly exclaimed exasperated. “But now is not the time to pester Uncle Ignatius. Tonight is very important to the family. He and aunt Lucretia will be wanted everywhere for everything. We must pitch in and do our part to support the family.”

“For the good of the family, of course.”

Arthur wondered if Molly found it at all ironic, her family thought getting dressed up for a night of dinner and dancing was of vital importance when their family was teetering on the cusp of bankruptcy.

Not that Arthur was particularly concerned about money. He was Dumbledore's man through and through. The Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had friends far and wide and he always looked out for the welfare of his people.

The Headmaster would arrange something before the Weasley family’s situation became too dire.   
In the meantime, even without proper employment Arthur Weasley still had a job to do.

Mild mannered, unassuming family man Arthur Weasley was a senior intelligence officer in Albus Dumbledore’s private militia, the Order of the Phoenix. Most intelligence gathering was not flashy or exciting which suited Arthur Weasley’s skill set.

He could sit still and watch just about anything for hours. He could listen and recall conversations he overheard almost word for word for days afterward. He could unobtrusively follow people like a shadow. Arthur Weasley was a plain, friendly bloke no one noticed - but who noticed everything.

Arthur had criss crossed the British commonwealth for years meeting with trusted members of the OP gathering information and disseminating Dumbledore’s wisdom to the lower ranks under the guise of official business of the Misuse of Magic Office. It was the perfect cover.

Dumbledore had not received an invitation the Hexam Wine Moon Ball in over a decade. Except for Arthur Weasley, who was married to a Prewett, no Order of the Phoenix member had the connections or the pedigree merit an invitation to the Hexam Hall Wine Moon Ball.

It was not an opportunity to be missed.

Molly insisted they have another bath before dressing. Arthur initially objected - he was clean, and clean shaved already - but quickly changed his mind when he stepped into the shower. It had twenty powerful jets that pounded his flesh like a high paid spa masseuse.

Putting on formal robes was far less complicated for a man than for a women. Arthur was dressed and sitting in a leather armchair while his wife sat at the vanity arranging her flaming hair in a loose chignon. Arthur could not help noticing Molly seemed to bloom with renewed vitality.

Since she had set her mind to attending the Wine Moon Ball Molly had lost two and a half stone. Her hair had turned from greying brown to its youthful copper gold. Her skin glowed like a dewy peach in moonlight and her eyes sparkled like the blue diamonds in her ears.

Molly’s transformation filled Arthur with sadness because it was well known that the emotional health of magical folk directly affected their physical appearance and magical ability. It was obvious that life as Arthur Weasley’s wife had taken a dreadful toll on Molly Prewett’s wellbeing.

With his beautiful wife on his arm, dressed in finery worth more than his former salary at the Ministry of Magic Arthur Weasley descended to the ballroom of Hexam Hall full of foreboding. If Gideon Prewett was anything to judge by, the night was not going to be pleasant for him.

The band was playing a sultry tango, when the Weasley’s arrived at the top of the stairs that descended down into the spacious ballroom. Most of the crowd was not dancing. They were avidly watching Lucius Malfoy and Regulus Black having clothed sex in the middle of the room.

“Isn’t that Lucius Malfoy? What in world does he think he’s doing?”

“Perhaps he is trying to transfer the color of his dress robes to the other man’s clothes with vigorous rubbing?”

The Weasleys were laughing quietly into each other shoulders when the society columnist Ginger Cobb and her husband Eustis Yaxley a famous wizarding wireless sports broadcaster approached the Weasleys.

Eustis had the dark purple hair and healthy olive skin characteristic of the Yaxley family. He wore black robes like Arthur, but unlike Arthur, Eustis seemed perfectly at ease in the finery.

“AHHthur, Moe-lina Weeesley!” Ginger drawled in an american imitation of public school diction. “Come out of hiiiding at long last!”

Ginger looked a little too Hollywood for British society. Ginger had dyed her bobbed pale lavender to better fit in with her husband’s family. She wore a strapless white jumpsuit that set off her deep tan beautifully with waist cinching corset like belt in solid gold and shiny gold stilettos.

Ginger waved a lazy hand in the direction of the spectacle in the middle of the dance floor. “Isn’t it tooooooo dreadfully delicious?”

“Horrible, horrible!” declared her husband. “They should know better than to display their soiled linens in public! Not at all the done thing!”

“What eeeh-var could Lucius be thinking? Do you know Molinnna?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Molly said carefully. She knew Ginger Cobb-Yaxley from her picture in the Daily Prophet, Witch Weekly, Tres Chic and other fashion publications. The society columnist was a ruthless muckraker who could find a sex scandal in a empty box buried in a empty room.

“Perhaps you should ask Lord Malfoy himself?” Arthur suggested dryly. “Excuse us.”

Arthur and Molly turned away from the Cobb-Yaxleys, but Ginger quickly maneuvered in front of them.

“But you were once on innn-timate terms with Luuuuciussss correct? Ssssurely you retain ssssome insight into the way his mind works?”

“You’re mistaken -”

“You were engaged,” Eustis insisted.

“It was an arrangement our parents made for us,” Molly said quickly. “It wasn’t serious.”

“You proudly wore his signet ring for years,” Ginger cut in.

“Who told you that?”

“My husband among other people. Do you deny it?”

He would remember that. Eustis Yaxley was in school a year or so behind Molly, Arthur and Lucius.

“Lucius Malfoy was never in love with me!”

“He was a fool for you,” Eustis said accusingly. “He killed a griffon and brought you the pelt!”

Molly cringed at the memory of Lucius last, bloody present to her. Lucius had been proud as a rooster with gold feathers. Molly had been horrified. Her fellow gryffindors had been enraged. Kindly grandfather like Albus Dumbledore had shouted till the glass in the windows rattled.

“That was a long time ago. I do not see Lucius anymore.”

That was the wrong thing to say. With gleaming eyes Ginger Cobb verbally pounced on Molly.

“When did you stop seeing Lucius? Was it very recently? Is that why you are here with your husband tonight? To show Lucius it’s over once and for all? Is that why he’s so heartbroken he is making a fool of himself in public?”

“There is nothing between me and Lucius!”

“Molly, have a care -”

“You expect me to stand here and be badgered by this, this absurd media person?”

“Is this a cry for help Mrs. Weasley? Your help?” Ginger snapped the questions at Molly quickly abandoning her phony accent completely. “Why won’t you help Lucius? Don’t you love him anymore Ms. Molina Prewitt -Weasley?”

“How dare you harass me! I am a daughter of this house!”

“Lower your voice! People are starting to stare!”

“Excuse me,” Exton Pryor, one of Molly’s many Pryor cousins from New York said elbowing into the conversation between the Weasleys and the Cobb-Yaxleys with his twin Exom. Literally.

Exom and Exton were stocky lads with the physical presence of hungry pit bulls or Qudditch beaters. Arthur, Ginger, and Eustis all instinctively took two steps back away from Molly as the twins took up positions flanking her.

“There you are Dolly Molly!” Exton exclaimed turning his back to Eustis and Ginger. He draped an arm around Molly’s shoulder to better guided her away from Ginger’s inquisition.

“Arthur join up or get left behind,” Exton ordered over his shoulder as he lead Molly down the stairs.

“Ginger, and Eustis Yaxley?” Exom raised his nose with an arrogant sniff as if inquiring if they realized they smelled of dog shit. “Run along to dinner now.”

“But the gong hasn’t sounded!” Ginger protested.

“Then go stand at the door,” Exom suggested coldly. “And wait for it.”  
  
Exom stared Cobb-Yaxley couple down until Eustis hustled his wife away muttering, “Yes we’d better be going Ginny dear, mother wants us to save seats for Margarita and Romic.”

“Daddys sent us to hunt you up Molly doll.”

“Where have you been hiding all night?”

“We just floo-ed in!”

“Fashionably late?” Exton asked.

“Wish we was you!” Exom finished.

“These people to night!”

“I hope they’re all crushed in the Rush!”

Arthur could not help smiling. He was accustomed to twin-speak from his own sons. The Prewett family and their cadet branches produced an inordinate number of twins and triplets.

Exton and Exom were the sons of twins who had married twins and produced three sets of twins between them.

Turning their shoulders sideways Arthur, Molly, Exton and Exom squeezed through the crowds to the card room. The buzz and hum of the gamblers was punctuated by brief shouts of excitement and jostling.

“Over here!” Lord Ignatius Prewett waved at them.

Lord Ignatius stood by the bar with Exton and Exom’s parents: Hughart, Havilah, Durbin and Daphne and their other twin children: Betrys, Blodwen, Gruffudd and Goronwy.

Molly hurried over and started exchanging exuberant hugs and kisses calling each person by the correct name.

All the copper topped Prewitts looked alarmingly similar. Arthur did not bother attempting to correctly identify any of the duplicates by name. They all wore their house colors, dark grey robes punctuated by royal blue. Which made Arthur, in his black robes, stand out in their midst.  
  
“I think Aunt Lucy was nipping the good scotch-”

“When she wrote the invitations!”

“Don’t be rude!” one of the parents admonished.   
  
“We raised better than that!”

“But Mummy!”

“You didn’t hear that toe-rag-news-hag!”

“Ginger the cringer?”

“Of course!”

“She said?”

“The most outrageous accusations!”

“About sweet our Molly Dolly?”

“Yes!”

“That BITCH!”

“If she prints a word of that libelous nonsense -”

“In the Witch Weekly Wine Moon Ball Special Edition-”

“We’ll sue!” they chorused.

“And what, exactly were you doing to defend my niece while all this was going on?” Lord Ignatius demanded of Arthur. He could complete an entire sentence by himself. Lord Prewett’s twin, Charlus was dead.

Lord Ignatius felt a strong paternal instinct toward Molly, which manifested itself in the desire to see Arthur burned to ash by dragon fire, anonymous monthly deposits of gold into their bank vault and gifts to the Weasley children on their birthdays.

Given Molly’s recent physical transformation Arthur understood Ignatius’ enmity.

“Uncle Iggy! It was nothing!” Molly cut in quickly. “You know how the news hounds are. Scandal sales!”

“Yes,” Lord Prewett agreed irritably. “Why wait for the news when you can create it yourself from scratch!”

“Which is why we should seriously consider-”

“Pandora Lovegood’s proposal.”

“With better financing,”

“Targeted marketing -”

“A hand-picked staff,”

“The Quibbler -”

“Could be the fair and balanced -”

“Voice of the silent sane majority-

“Of British Wizards.”

“In time we could expand -”

“Into the global market!”

“Print and wireless!”

“Twenty four hour coverage!”

“Like CNN and the Post combined!”

“For wizards!”

“What is CNN?” Arthur asked.

“Let’s not bore poor Arthur with our tedious little business concerns.” Lord Ignatius’ quelling look warned his relatives not to discuss business with an outsider in their midst. “He’s a man of action! Details of our paper pushing pence pinching little enterprises would only put poor Arthur to sleep.”

“I am always eager to broaden my horizons and learn new things, Lord Prewett. I would be very interested to hear how Mrs. Lovegood plans to expand the readership of her newsletter. I always assumed Pandora and Xenophilius liked tailoring their content to a small audience.”

“I wish I could enlighten you Arthur, but I don’t subscribe to the Quibbler. The Lovegoods are here to night. Perhaps you should direct your inquiries directly to them? I believe I saw them out in the ballroom near the terrace doors. If you hurry, you can catch up with them.”

Lord Ignatius Prewett clearly wanted to dismiss Arthur, but Molly was having none of it. She held fast to her husband’s hand.

“That’s quite alright Uncle Iggy, the Lovegood live nearby. We can catch up with them some other time.”

The gathered Prewitts except for Lord Ignatius, who clearly already knew, stared at Molly in horror as if she had just confessed to infant cannibalism.

“But the Lovegoods live in that -”

“Swampy bog down in Devon!”

“Surely you don’t...dwell...there?”

“Do you?”

“It’s not as bad as all that. I mean our house isn’t Pryor House or Hexam Hall, but it’s cozy. Our garden boasts the most beautiful roses in the parish! Ron and Ginny’s pumpkin won the blue ribbon at the fair and it made for a delicious pie!” Molly said with forced good cheer.

“You grow your own food?” One of the parents said slowly.

“Like a, a, farmer?”

The Prewett children looked impressed. The Prewett parents exchanged a speaking look that screamed WE HAVE GOT TO SAVE HER! NOW!

“It is not a farm,” Arthur said defensively. He deeply resented the fact he had to defend his family’s lifestyle from people who would see them poor rather than give gold to a Weasley. “We don’t have cows grazing in the pasture.”

“But you do have live stock?” Lord Ignatius asked shrewdly. “Animals you raise for their meat?”

“A few,” Arthur hedged.

“How many is a few?” Lord Ignatius asked in a dangerous tone that warned that obfuscation of any kind would not be tolerated.

Molly answered him promptly. “Just some rabbits...Some chickens for eggs...A few ducks...Two pigs and a goat, but we milk the goat. We’d never eat Miss Anne.”

The Prewitts stared at Molly and Arthur blankly for a long moment.

Before Molly married Arthur there probably had not been a Prewett to perform manual labor in three hundred years or more. They certainly were not acquainted with their protein sources before it was cooked and on a plate.

“It think...I need a drink.”

“A strong one.”

“A big one.”

“Two for one.”

“Me too.”

The Prewett parents: Ignatius, Hughart, Havilah, Durbin and Daphne turned to the bar and started ordering double whiskeys and straight scotch. Neat. The Prewett children started peppering Molly and Arthur with excited questions about milking, plucking feathers and manure.

Exom, Exton, Betrys, Blodwen, Gruffudd and Goronwy’s absolute fascinations with the properties of chicken shit confirmed Arthur Weasley’s long held suspicion that Fred, George, Bill and Charlie got their mischievous nature and love of practical jokes from Molly’s side of the family.

Once the Prewett parents were all properly lubricated and smiling like sticks were being slowly inserted up their up tight arses, Lord Ignatius took over control of the conversation again.

“Look Arthur, there is Amelia Bones, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Isn’t she your supervisor at the Ministry of Magic? Why don’t you go pay your respects. Molly dear, why don’t you go with Betrys and Blodwen. Diner starts in thirty minutes. Lucretia will need your help.”

Molly and Arthur looked at each other uncertainly. There was little doubt Lord Prewett was unaware that Arthur was not longer employed with the Ministry of Magic. He was choosing not to embarrass Arthur publicly so long as he got the hell out his sight and away from Molly.

Immediately.

“Uncle Iggy, Arthur should come with me. He is not familiar with the house -”

“Then he should summon a house elf,” one of the parents said unsympathetically.

Despite the fact they had not bothered to contact Molly in years, the Prewitts were united in their disdain for Arthur Weasley for turning Molly into a swamp dwelling farmer. Arthur could practically feel the hate radiating off of them like the warmth of a fire.

“That’s what they are for.”

“You are familiar with house elves aren’t your Arthur?”

“Yes of course.”

“I want to introduce Arthur to more of the family before we sit down to dinner,” Molly said desperately, trying to deflect but not outright defy the Lord of Prewett in his house. “Arthur barely knows anyone here -”

“Don’t worry my dear,” Lord Prewett reassured her. “We know you are too busy with your children and Arthur is consumed by his never ending crusade to save muggles from malicious home goods to have much of a social life. Lucretia put you between cousins Honus and Honoria.”

“Where will Arthur be?”

“Between Umbridge and Crouch I think?” one mother looked at the other questioningly.

She shook her head. “Between Crouch and Mulciber.”

“Somewhere down with the rest of the Ministry of Magic people,” Lord Prewett promised. “Arthur is a career ministry official. I’m sure he would much rather talk shop with his colleagues than help you and Lucy sort out the flower arrangement crisis.”

“Is there a flower arrangement crisis?” Molly asked switching gears. She and Lucretia had been corresponding about the flower arrangements for weeks. “She fretted about sourcing enough blue roses to go into the chocolate petal souffles and the bouquets this late in the season -”

“Molly why don’t you go with see about it? Knowing you’d taken charge of the situation would certainly take an immense burden off Lucretia’s mind,” Lord Prewett urged. “She doesn’t have your eye for these things, and you know how worried she is about tonight being a success.”

“Please do help Molly, Lucretia can’t manage a presentable corsage.”

“Corsage? Lucretia can’t produce a passable boutonniere!”

“Yes please go help your aunt Lucretia, Molly,” Arthur entreated. She had come to Hexam Hall to spend time with her relatives. Arthur had come to Hexam Hall to spy for Albus Dumbledore. It was time to split up to better pursue their separate agendas. “She needs your expertise.”

Lord Ignatius gestured to Betrys and Blodwen who took Molly’s arms proprietorially and guided her off into the crowd nattering on about Lucretia Prewett’s lack of decorating skills followed by their mother Havilah who nodded in agreement with everything they said.

Not that Lucretia’s inability to color coordinate mattered in the least.

She had a swarm of servants for that.

Lord Ignatius and his New York cousins watch them go with fonds smiles then turn back to Arthur.  
The gathered Prewett men glowered at Arthur as if he had just taken a crap on the floor in front of them then offered his filth covered hand to shake.

“I think it is long past time you started moving up in the world. Now would be an excellent time for you to have a private conversation with Ms. Bones about your professional ambitions Arthur.”

“I don’t think that is such a good idea Lord Ignatius.”

“I can’t say I give a damn about your opinion or Ms. Bones beyond the fact your dysfunctional professional relationship is having an adverse effect on the standard of living enjoyed by Molly and her children. Rectify the situation to my satisfaction tonight. Or I will intervene. Am I understood?”

Arthur swallowed thickly. “Yes. Perfectly.”

“On your way now Arthur. Don’t leave Ms Bones waiting,” Lord Prewett said dismissively.


	13. Chapter 13

Dolores Jane Umbridge, Special Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic was a short women. Her friends described as plump but dainty. Her few surviving enemies described her as squat and toad like.

Everyone agreed Ms. Umbridge was very fond of cats, wore a great deal of pink and was more clever than she ever let on.

The Minister of Magic had a security escort of six aurors and his wife Coco with him, but Fudge needed all the help he could get. Dolores assigned her assistant Owen Hearst, the 1st Deputy Special Undersecretary to shadow the minister of magic. 

Ms. Umbridge had more important items on her agenda than baby sitting the Minister of Magic.

Before Arthur Weasley could make his way across the crowded card room of Hexam Hall to pester Ms. Amelia Bones, Dolores Umbridge intercepted him.

“Mr. Weasley! How lucky I ran into you!” Dolores said warmly stopping Arthur Weasley ten feet from his target.

Out the corner of her eye Ms. Umbridge saw Ms. Bones glanced up at the sound of her voice. Ms. Bones spotted Mr. Weasley - knew instantly why he would want to seek out his former Ministry of Magic Department Head - quietly excused herself and slipped away from the people she was speaking to.

Perfect.

Ms. Umbridge did not go through the trouble of making sure Mr. Weasley lost his position only to have him regain employment with the Ministry of Magic thanks to the likes of Ms. Amelia Bones.

Ms. Umbridge wanted Headmaster Albus Dumbledore’s puppet in her pocket and no one else's.

“Ms. Umbridge!” Arthur was clearly surprised Dolores knew his name. "Good to see you...You look lovely, this evening."

Dolores was well aware she was not a great beauty. However she was very proud of her small hands and feet.

To show her best features to full advantage she wore a sleeveless pink taffeta gown with a knee length full skirt. Black velvet pumps with pink bows on the heel and pink gloves with little black bows on the back.

"Thank you Mr. Weasley! Minister Fudge said we could wear our office uniforms, but I just couldn't resist making a real effort to dress for the occasion."

"Well it certainly shows! You look like a debutante!"

"Thank you Arthor. You've certainly cleaned up well, I must say."

"Ah, thank you Ms. Umbridge," Arthur Weasley stammered.

Clearly Mrs. Weasley was not doing her job if thin, insincere praise could set her husband to blushing. Then again perhaps she was doing her best. There certainly was not much Dolores Umbridge could see in Arthur Weasley worthy of admiration.  

“I’m glad to see a friendly face in the crowd!” Dolores went on as if relieved. She leaned forward and admitted confidentially, “I hardly know anyone here. Your wife is a member of the Prewett family. With you as my guide I would feel safe among these gold plated natives.”

Mr. Weasley laughed despite himself. “In all honesty, I must advise you Ms. Umbridge, I am as lost in this wilderness of wealth as you are.”

“Then we will muddle along together shall we?” Ms. Umbridge looped her arm into Arthur’s and steered him out of the cardroom. “You don’t mind if we leave the game tables do you?”

“No, no not at all -”

“I’m not lucky or rich enough to indulge in games of chance, beside we might find more compatible company out in the ballroom.”

“There are certainly more people there -”

Exactly.

Dolores intended to select whom Dumbledore's mole observed and what he heard. Ms. Umbridge knew felt she certain  she could control what Headmaster Dumbledore did if she could control what Headmaster Dumbledore knew.

There was no one in the card room Ms. Umbridge wanted the Hogwarts Headmaster paying extra attention to.  

Out in the ballroom there were a number of people Ms. Umbridge wanted harassed or investigated by the Order of the Phoenix.

Ms. Umbridge scanned the room. Near the stairs, she spotted a situation bubbling toward explosion. She maneuvered herself and Arthur across the room to where Lady Lucretia Prewett, Bartemius Crouch Sr., Lady Malfoy, Dr. Black-Prince were confronting Gilderoy Lockhart and a short, bald man.

“This is outrageous!” Gilderoy Lockhart cried loudly.

“Almost as outrageous as people believing they can judge the quality of your dueling abilities by the quality of your lustrous coiffure,” Dr. Severus Black Prince replied drly. “But there you have it. Sometimes facts are stranger than fiction.”

“Who are you to challenge the qualifications of my personal physician?” Lockhart demanded puffing himself up in righteous indignation.

“I am Dr. Severus Serpens Black-Prince.”

“I’ve never heard of you,” Lockhart sniffed haughtily.

“Therefore I must not exist,” Severus replied. “Yet here I stand. Your allegedly astounding powers do not seem to be as awe inspiring, all encompassing as advertised. How dreadfully disappointing.”

“Where do you work? Must be from some backwater with one unpaved road and more livestock that people. Tell me Dr. Black-Prince: do the majority of your patients have two legs or four?”

“My practice and home address are both in Gotham: a quaint wizarding hamlet tucked into a bit of folded space in a corner of Central Park in Manhattan, New York. That quaint muggle village of eight million souls nestled in the uncharted wilds of North America. Perhaps you have heard of it?”

 “American hack!” Lockhart scoffed dismissively. “Who are you to besmirch the legendary Dr. Gause? Why he’s cured my every ache and pain for years! How dare you question his credentials! Pffft! I bet you got your degrees through the mail! How do we know you are who YOU claim to be? Who's ever heard of -”

"I beg your pardon sir," Lady Lucretia Prewitt interjected frostily. "There is nothing suspect about Dr. Black-Prince. He is my nephew's husband."

“I know Severus,” Horace Slughorn announced as he waddled up. “I taught him potions at Hogwarts! Abrasive as dragon scales rubbed the wrong way, but bright as Rowena’s diamond diadem!”

“His paperwork is in order. He matriculated from the Gandalf College of Medicine at Cambridge University. With full honors and a triple Mastery. This was posted to my office directly from them,” Bartimus Crouch Sr. interrupted shaking a rolled up scroll at Lockhart.

“What about your man Lockhart?" Lady Lucretia asked. "Who is  _he?"_

“Dr. Gause is a retired professor of magical medicine and a world renowned pioneer of experimental potions! He doesn’t have to carry about is degrees like some, some neophyte trying to hide his inexperience behind his diploma!”

“I happen be personally acquainted with the reclusive Dr. Gause. I had the good fortune to attend his seminar while at university.”

 “What?” Lockhart asked Severus, surprised. “How could you? He hasn’t taught a class in years!”

 “He came out retirement briefly to teach when his daughter took maternity leave. That man,” Severus pointed a long finger at Lockhart’s personal physician, “is a lazy impostor. He looks nothing like Dr. Gause.”

 “How can you say that? There never was a man who looked more like Dr. Gause in his life!”

 “You are either a fool or a liar. Either way it is best you close your mouth before you infect Lady Malfoy with your virulent stupidity.”  

 “Severus darling, how do you know that is not Dr. Gause?” Narcissa asked reasonably. “Have you seen him recently? Perhaps he’s aged-”

“While his daughter, Aditi does take after her Welsh mother in all respects except her eyes, Dr. Daji Nair-Gause is well over six feet tall. Of purely Indian descent. Thin as his shadow. In possession of three eyes and four arms...Do I need to sketch you lack-wits a portrait?”

 Everyone turned to look at the man posing as Dr. Gause, who was clearly a pudgy, pasty white man of average height. Not the least bit Indian at all with only two eyes.

 “What do you have to say for yourself?” Crouch asked not Dr. Gause in indignant tones.

 “This is all just a simple misunderstanding,” fake Dr. Gause began holding his hands in non-threatening manner, as he slowly backed away.

 “Aurors!” Crouch cried out pointing at the fake Dr. Gause. “Arrest this, this flim-flam man!”

 Four of the six Aurors that were part of Minister Fudge’s security detail swiftly crossed the room at Bartemius Crouch’s bellowed summons.  

 “I thought this was a fancy dress party yeah? I was to come as my favorite person, celebrity or what not - so I picked Dr. Gause. He did me a good turn once - HEY! no need to get rough! I’ll come quietly!”

 The impostor was violently seized and tossed belly down on the ground. The Aurors who had spent their evening shadowing Minister Fudge and his wife Coco being bored stiff. They took their pent-up frustrations out on phony doctor Guase.

 “Careful gentlemen,” Lady Lucretia Prewitt warned as the Aurors drew their wands. “My husband has mastery of the Hexam Hall, if you trigger the house wards I can not save you from the consequences.”

 The Aurors hastily put their wands away.

 “Silence him!” Crouch ordered as the pretender began to curse.

 One of the Aurors stripped fake Dr. Gause of his shoes, stuffed his mouth with his socks and secured it in place with his bow tie.

“I can’t believe I’ve been bamboozled by a charlatan!” Lockhart moaned loudly holding the back one hand to his forehead.  “This is a tragedy! My poor fans won’t see me duel to night! How could this have happened to me? I’m just too trusting -”

 “Take that man into custody!” Crouch ordered pointing at Lockhart.

 “How dare you manhandle me! I’m a victim! This is an abortion of justice!”

 “Miscarriage of justice you blabbering mouth breather,” Severus snapped.

 “Silence him!”

 Lockhart was forced to the ground and sock stuffed next to his alleged doctor.

"Come this way gentlemen. Let me show you where your...baggage can be stored out of the way," Lady Lucretia said ushering Mr. Crouch Sr. and the Aurors away. As they walked away a tall man hurried forward.

“Hullo! Dr. Principe! Remember me? Barthez Bombard?” Dr. Barthez Bombard called out, pushing his way forward. “We meet at a conference in Zurich five, no six years ago.”

 “I remember. Lady Malfoy, this is Dr. Bombard. His is one of the last active minds left in continental Europe. Dr. Bombard, Lady Malfoy. One of the few people in this house you won't have to speak to in single syllables.”

 “Madam it is a pleasure,” Dr. Bombard said gallantly bowing over Narcissa’s hand.

 “Narcissa, this man presented the only interesting treatise on transmutation I’ve read in the last decade,” Severus told his old friend while shaking Dr. Bombard’s hand.

 “Praise from Severus? You must be a certified genius Dr. Bombard.”

 “I have some modest ability Lady Malfoy. My insights are but the flicker of a candle compared to the blazing lighthouse of Dr. Principe’s brilliance - I have followed your work for years with great interest my friend.”

“I have looked for yours in vain. Why haven’t you published anything more than a few timid letters to the editors recently?”

 “I couldn’t design an experiment to test my theories,” Dr. Bombard replied sheepishly. “By the way I appreciated your defense of my work. Everyone else wanted to laugh me off stage. You were the only person there, I think, who actually understood my paper.”

 “When a seeing man describes colors to the blind, of course he is mocked for a fool. That is the price of having insight and understanding in areas where these evangelical crusaders for substandard ignorance have only questions. Surely you have not let a little ridicule that stop you?”

 “I could not get another research grant after Zurich. I teach at Beauxbaton these days to support my family, and this sort of thing - patching up rich duelist - to afford my journals and books. It’s not a bad life...the food is good and the wine is free, ja?”

 “While you’ve been...intellectually mothballed, I’ve created a protocol based on your concepts and conducted a double blind longitudinal cohort clinical trial.”

 “How many subjects? How long?”

 “172. A third of them women. For the last fifty two months.”

 “How did you find so many candidates?”

 “The Belle Reve Sanitarium Penitentiary in America is analogous to Azkaban; but much, much larger. My husband Regulus is has a very...convivial relationship with Wardeness Quinzelle. As a result I have unrestricted access to the inmates to conduct my experiments.”

 “What do the preliminary findings suggest?”

“A resounding success. I dispatched a draft with my results to you and the publishers of Moste Potente Potions Internationale yesterday morning.”

“Really?” Dr. Bombard asked hopefully, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I’ll have to fire call home and have it sent over. I can’t believe it! I did not hope to see a practical application developed in my lifetime. Principe you’ll get the Order of Merlin for this!”

“Best apprentice I ever had,” Horace Slughorn boasted taking a position at Severus’ side to bask in his glory.

“Did you know he graduated early? Oh yes. Sat for his OWLS and NEWTS at the same time. I always said he would go far - Zhivago my good man! Over here my friend! Meet my protege, Severus!”

Dr. Zhivago, hearing his name called, and seeing Slughorn beckoning made his way over to the them.

“Dr. Caligari Zhivago, may I present Dr. Severus Black-Prince and Lady Narcissa Malfoy,” Slughorn said proudly. “These are two of the best minds Hogwart has produced in a generation, no - two hundred years!”

“Pleasure to meet you sir, madam” Dr. Caligari Zhivago said with the indifferent air of a man above his company.

“Indeed,” Severus replied equally unenthused.

“I’m delighted to meet you Dr. Zhivago,” Narcissa replied trying to quickly divert attention from Severus’ cool civility.

“Your streamlined method for brewing dreamless sleep is quite elegant,” Narcissa complemented Dr. Zhivago.

“Thank you madam,” Zhivago replied flattered. “Even with my improvements, Dreamless Sleep is a challenge. You must possess a great deal of skill for a hobbyist, Lady Malfoy.”

Narcissa gave Zhivago a knife sharp smile. “I have little time for hobbies sir. I sit on the board of directors of Bacchus Brewbaker Potions,  Elixirs, and Medicinal Services International LTD. I was merely passing on the complements of my head potion’s master.”

“I humbly beg pardon Lady Malfoy,” Dr. Zhivago swept his academic hat off his head, and bowed deeply to Narcissa.

 “I am honored to meet the name that endorses my royalty checks,” Dr. Zhivago went on in a much more charming tone. “If your firm would like to license exclusive rights to any of my other potions innovations -”

 “I will know whom my lawyers should consult,” said Narcissa turning slightly away from Dr. Zhivago.

 “Caligari, this is the man I was telling you about. THIS,” Bombard gestured to Severus as if unveiling a new wonderful curiosity at a carnival. “Is  Dr. Nero Principe.”

 “Just a minute. Horace said his name is Severus -”

 “Dr. Severus Black-Prince. My publishing agent is an Italian who markets my work under  my last name. In Italian.”

 “Black Prince? Nero Principe?”

 “Yes. My nom de plume is in fact my legal name,” Severus said in a flat bored tone. “The grand mystery that has baffled a generation is at last solved...Huzzah.”

 “Alain! Mehmet! Jiro! Nuuk! Emile! Margot! Nitsi! Never mind Damocles Belby! Come! Quickly! I’ve found him! This is Dr. Nero Principe!” Zhivago turned back to Severus. “I am one of the editors of Moste Potente Potions. Your latest paper - if the results can be verified -”

 “Severus was just discussing having Dr. Bombard and Master Slughorn do just that,” Narcissa told Zhivago. “With the sponsorship of Brewbaker Ltd of course.”

 “Really?” Dr. Bombard asked eagerly.

 “Really?” Severus echoed looking at Narcissa.

 “Of course,” Narcissa assured Dr. Bombard, then discretely elbowed Severus in the ribs.

 “Your theories were the genesis of my work,” Severus agreed immediately. “Of course you’ll be personally involved with the confirmation of its revelations.”

 “Brewbaker LTD has industrial capacity, I grant you, but for the complex, confidential matter of independently verifying results, might I suggest a secure, academic setting? Such as my home institution?” Zhivago wheedled rubbing his hands together greedily.

 “Durmstrang is known for keeping clandestine research strictly confidential. Our very location is a closely guarded secret. You can entrust me with -”

 “There’s no need for us to impose on you Caligari,” Horace Slughorn assured his colleague using his large belly to gently bump him back from standing too close to Severus and Narcissa.

 “I’m sure between Hogwarts and Beaubaton, Barthez and I shall manage.”

 “During the summer the campus is completely abandoned. Except for the house elves of course,” Dr. Barthez piped up.

“I have heard Durmstrang host a large number of dueling camps when classes are not in session, isn't that so?” Slughorn asked.

Presently the people Zhivago had summoned - duelist doctors who had already had their papers examined and where off gossiping with each other, their clients, or the cluster of chalk dusty scholars began drifting over to join Severus’ group.

 The duelist doctors were indistinguishable from any other ball guest in their dress robes, the scholars, all unquestioned authorities in their respective fields of study, were all dressed so eccentrically it seemed cliched.  

 All of them wore funny hats - conical caps topped by a ostrich feather pom-pom, bucket like fezs with multiple brightly colored leather horns, skull caps with sparkly glass bead fringe - that denoted their home institution and level of academic achievement.

 With with ink stained skin, disheveled robes and hair that might have been styled by a butterfly welding scissors before being decorated with forgotten pencil stubs, quills feathers and eyeglasses the academics looked artfully mad.

 Out of all of them only Damocles Belby looked as respectable as Horace Slughorn, Dr. Zhivago or Dr Bombard. Belby trailed behind his colleagues, who rushed forward to pepper Severus with questions, with a frown and his arms crossed over his chest.

 “I don’t know what all the fuss is about,” Master Belby sulked loud enough to be clearly heard over the others. “It’s not like he invented wolf’s bane. His latest paper hasn’t even made it past the peer reviewers yet.”

 “Belby, Damocles -” Horace soothed in a consoling tone of voice. “Let’s not have a row -”

 “No, no Master Slughorn,” Severus interjected. “Give Master Belby his due. Creating wolf’s bane was an astounding accomplishment for a middling moron with delusions of grandeur and more concern for his fees than his patient’s welfare or the public’s safety.”

 “Wolf’s bane has transformed the lunatic menace into docile, healthy, clear-headed, productive members of society! No one has done more than I have for the advancement of public health in the entire history of medicine!”

 “Your knowledge of medicinal potions history must not be sufficient to fill a modest coloring book if you think your piddling concoction more significant than Dr. Herodotus’. His panacea ended the Black Death, the plague which brought humanity to the brink of extinction in Britain and continental Europe.”

Master Damocles Belby declared through gritted teeth. “Ask anyone in the Ministry! Werewolves on the bane don’t bite.”

“True they don’t bite during the full moon. They also can’t perform the ordinary tasks of daily life for up to two weeks thereafter. That is hardly what I would call an effective treatment,” Severus replied.

 “I thought wolf’s bane helped them keep their sanity during the change and manage their violent impulses during the rest of the month?” Arthur Weasley asked stepping forward. He looked from Severus to Damocles. “Doesn’t it help at all?”

 Dolores smiled to herself. Hook. Line. Sinker.

 “Wolf’s bane is a poison laced with a narcotic and vitamins,” Severus said with authority. “It keeps the Lycans high as the moon for three days. When they are cut off, they experience all the classic symptoms of withdrawal.”

“Like what?” Arthur asked.

“Muscle cramps, seizures, anxiety, insomnia, diarrhea, nausea, light sensitivity, lethargy, depression -.”

“It’s a humane chemical restraint! Would you rather they broke their teeth chewing their cages or clawed at their skin?”

“Werewolves are dark creatures. Repeatedly exposing them to low doses of poison will only help them built up an immunity to it,” Dr. Bombard said heatedly.

 “That’s pure speculation -”

 “The dragon keepers of Romania have documented a similar phenomenon when they feed their captive populations essence of Heliborne to suppress their fire breathing,” Dr. Bombard interjected. “In ten months the dragons, purged the toxin, and blew fire hotter than ever before.”

 “Once they become fully immune to the effects of the poison and narcotics making them sick and disoriented, the werewolves of England will be transformed from docile productive members of society into vicious carnivorous animals with human intelligence,” Severus warned.

 “Comparing werewolves and dragons is like comparing bats and birds. Just because they both can fly does not -” Dr. Zhivago began.

 “Bats and birds are both animals. Werewolves and dragons are both technically dark creatures,” Dr. Bombard cut in.

 “Barthez, Barthez,” Dr. Zhivago tsked. “Werewolves may be offically classified as near-human animals, but we both know they are human cursed with an involuntary transfiguration. Dragons are simply, well dragons. The two are not analogous.”

 “We test medicines on monkeys before we administer them to humans. It is reasonable to suppose an effective human treatment would have a similar effect on animals. Therefore I can logically theorize the effect seen in dragons will translate somewhat to werewolves,” Bombard insisted stubbornly.

 “All you ever put forth are theories Bombard,” Master Belby sneered. “As they say those who can do, those who can’t teach. How are things at BeauBaton these days Barthez? Isn’t it ironic that a giantess is so small minded about your budget?”

 Dr. Bombard flushed scarlet and looked at his shoes.

 “If you were an ordinary person your freakish level of incompetence would be a curiosity to be exhibited for pennies a glance under a carnival tent. As a  master of potions you are a calamity hanging like the sword of Damocles above the heads of the unsuspecting populace.”

 “Severus, my boy - really now,” Professor Slughorn chided gently. “Must you always be disagreeable?”

 Severus threw up his free arm in exasperation. “Why is it acceptable for him to be a gormless huckster making a fortune off the frightened British taxpayer, but unacceptable for me to point it out? I am doing the gullible public a service!”

 “I don’t have to take abuse from some foreign slanderer. I was awarded the order of Merlin Second Class for my work! My laboratory produces hundreds of thousands of gallons -”

 “Excuse me.” Lady Helene Yaxley wedged her way between the people clustered around Severus and Damocles.

“Dr. Black Prince, Lady Malfoy - lovely to see you dear - your suit is fabulous by the way,” Lady Yaxley and Narcissa exchanged air kisses,

“Thank you Lady Helene, I absolutely adore your earrings.”

“Thank you dear, you’re too kind. Hello Master Belby. Pleasure to meet you, I’m Helene Yaxley. That’s a darling hat? Is it a Klobuk? Is that trim fox fur?”

“Mink -”

“That means you graduated from the Rasputin Institute of Magic doesn’t it?” Lady Yaxley asked.

“Yes. With two Masteries. Ms. Yaxley -”

“Lady Yaxley, but please call me Helene, I couldn’t help overhearing your rather heated discussion with Dr. Black Prince. I wonder if you wouldn’t mind answering a few questions for me. My Cecil sits on the Wizengamot -”

Master Belby gulped nervously. “Your husband is Lord Cecil Yaxley?”

“Yes he is. Do you know him? Can’t find him just now, but he’ll be along presently. I’m sure. I seem to recall him saying something to me the other day about wolf’s bane and werewolves - now what did he say?” Lady Yaxley tapped a finger against her chin thoughtfully.

“The Ministry’s hurting for gold and the cost of providing all the lunatics in England with a supply of Wolf’s bane every month is getting to be prohibitively expensive,” Dolores Umbridge prompted helpfully.

Waste. Waste. Waste. Gods below and above how Dolores Jane Umbridge HATED the waste.

“My Cecil is always going on about ministry business,” Lady Yaxley explained as if her husband had a sniffle that would not clear up. “Nose to the grind stone till the sparks fly off. I tell him - well dear, just lock someone up in Azkabahn if it will ease your mind. There is no need fret so much. They probably deserve it.”

“Wolf’s bane is expensive because Belby marks up the price 126% relative to the cost of the ingredients,” Dr. Bombard put in.

“I only use quality materials,” Belby defended himself. “Good quality cost good money.”

“Come off it Belby,” Dr. Zhivago scoffed. “The principle ingredients of your potion are devil’s claw and monk’s hood. Both are common wildflowers. The only place they cost a gold galleon a ounce is on your balance sheets. Everyone knows this.”

 “Master Belby, did you ever do a long term study to determine the efficacy of prolonged wolf’s bane use before you successfully lobbied the Ministry to make its consumption mandatory for every lycan in England?” Dolores Umbridge asked. 

The Wolf's bane policy was enacted before Dolores' tenure at the Ministry of Magic began. It was a ham-fisted effort to keep the werewolves from joining Voldemort's cause. It was a Pyrrhic victory.  

“Or did you assume what was good for your bottom line was also good for England and vise versa?” Arthur Weasley asked severely looking reprovingly at Master Belby.

Before sputtering Master Belby could answer the dinner warning gong sounded. A surge of people hurried out of the card room elbowing their way through the conversation with rude urgency. Master Belby used the disruption as an opportunity to slip away into the crowd.

“Where does Master Belby think he’s going?” Lady Yaxley wondered. “He shan't get out of this house before Lord Prewett opens the doors.”

“He’ll have to answer for what he’s done," Arthur Weasley said angrily. "Make no mistake!”

 “We’ll have his hide for a hearth rug before the night’s over," Dolores Umbridge promised. "Let him hide for now. There’s no rush.”

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

The ascending full Wine Moon glowed a malignant red like the eye of Sauron over mount Doom just above the treetops of the Forbidden Forest.

Two men, wizards, one dressed in a long coat the other a dark cloak, stood in the midst a broken ring of standing stones in a mile wide meadow in the primeval Scottish woods.

The shadows of animals moved silently between the dark tree trunks. Hunting and hiding in turn. Dozens of yellow eyes blinked watchfully in the branches, but no animal approached. 

The broken ring of glowing standing stones were a barrier erected to protect magical folk from the carnivorous creatures inhabiting the woods.

An eon of rain had worn down the runes carved into the massive blue stone slabs scatter like a toddler's blocks around the grassy clearing; but time had not drained their magic.

Standing between the only two rune stones still standing upright, facing each other with their backs to the blue rock slabs, the two men waited. Their wands drawn, but pointing down.

“He’s late,” Rufus Scrimgeour grumped. 

“He’s always late.” Alastor Mad Eye Moody took a quick sip from a silver hip flask. “Worry if he’s on time...that’s a sign of the apocalypse.”

“Which one?”

“Third coming of Gozer the traveler.”

“That’s just what we need on top of everything else - a day-tripping demi god with delusions of grandeur.”

“Just don’t buy Dumbledore a watch for Yule. Get him earmuffs. That’s what I did.”

“I’ll get him a kick in the bum if he does not crack to it. I have not got all night.”

Moody offered Scrimgeour his hip flask who shook his head.

“I’ve got to pass through four checkpoints to apparate to the Hexam ball. Amelia Bones has security is tighter than an ant’s anus.”

“Good on Bones. Maybe she'll stick.”

“She is keeping my chair warm. When I’M Minister of Magic; Barty is going back where he belongs.”

“Crouch can’t run the Department of Magical Law Enforcement! His son was a Death Eater!”

“We both know Bart is the best man for that job.” 

“I admit nobody can fill out paperwork faster than Crouch but -”

“His liberal definition of appropriate use of deadly force kept you out of Azkaban. I expect you to be the FIRST and LOUDEST to congratulate Bart when the announcement is made Alastor.”

“Yes SER!” Moody saluted Scrimgeour. “Anything your say SER...What about little Bart ser? He killed Lord Longbottom. When Black Bart takes over DMLE again Lady Augusta will raise ten kinds of hell.”

“Junior is dead and buried. Nobody, not even Augusta, cares about him anymore. Another four years no one will even remember Bart ever had a child.”

“The Daily Prophet won’t let it go. Every time they have a slow news day they run the Scandal Sheet: an issue filled with their favorite conspiracy theories and slander.”

“The owners of the Daily Prophet have a bright young person working in the government. They think this promising youth should ascend the ranks and be anointed Minister of Magic after me. I promised to grease the path to glory in exchange for a little ...cooperation.”

“Do the owners of the Daily Prophet know you plan to die in office not retire?”

“Anyone who attempts to purchase power has only themselves to blame if they are short changed...Another five minutes, and I’m leaving.”

A soft pop, like a cork leaving a champagne bottle, heralded the appearance of two more wizards at the edge of the clearing. They walked across the field to Scrimgeour and Moody with their empty hands raised and cloak hoods down. Rufus and Alastor kept their wands raised, ready to hex.

“What is the secret of life the universe and everything?” Moody demanded to know.

“42 of course,” Albus Dumbledore answered with twinkling eyes. 

Alastor and Albus shook hands.

“Thank you for coming. I apologize for the short notice. I only just found out tonight - good to see you again Rufus.”

When Albus offered Rufus his hand, Scrimgeour crossed his arm over his chest and frowned.

“I’m here as a favor to Moody, Dumbledore. Get on with it.”

Rufus had never liked Dumbledore. The Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and wizardry was too eccentric and too unpredictable to suite Rufus’ military way of thinking. Scrimgeour especially resented Dumbledore’s efforts to fill the Ministry of Magic with his minions.

“Gentlemen allow me to introduce my companion for the evening,” Albus said drawing the young man forward.

He was almost as tall as Dumbledore, but so severely underweight his cloak hung on him like empty clothes on a hanger. 

His dark blonde hair was neatly combed back but thinning at the crown. His pale skin was waxy as fever victim, but his golden eyes were keen - almost glowing - with intelligence.

“Rufus Scrimgeour, Alastor Moody may I present Remus Lupin?”

“How do you do?” Lupin asked politely.

Moody reached out to shake his hand. “Haven't seen you since the war ended. Where ever you went, the food must be lousy, stick man.”

Alastor stepped back. Rufus came forward and shook Remus’ hand.

“I knew your father. Romulus was a good man. Damn that lunatic Greyback! Was it your older brother or younger brother that was turned?”

“It was me.”

Scrimgeour drew back raising his wand ready to hex and Lupin did the same. Moody drew his wand as well and pointed it at Lupin too. Dumbledore quickly moved to stand between them.

“You brought us to the Forbidden Forest to meet a werewolf a full moon night!” demanded Scrimgeour angrily. “ARE you MAD?”

“I told you this was a bad idea,” Lupin complained to Dumbledore. “They’ll never listen to me -”

“I heard a rumor you let a lunatic attend Hogwarts and it ate a student but I dismissed it out of hand. I thought even you wouldn’t be that cavalier Albus, but this dog has a wand - ”

“I am NOT a dog!” Lupin said tightly to Moody. “I am a man, same as you.”

“I don’t have fleas -”

“Everyone please lower your wands - Allow me to explain.”

“How many children did you let this monster eat?" Scrimgeour demanded. "Did you give the parents anything to bury or did you hide their bodies like that Myrtle girl the half giant killed?”

“Hagrid did not kill Myrtle,” Albus said patiently. “No one knows what happened to the poor girl-”

“We know what happened to her!” Moody retorted. “She’s dead! Her miserable ghost haunts a lavatory for all love! We just never found a body to prove -”

“Hagrid wouldn't kill anybody,” Lupin protested. “If you knew him then -”

“I know what giants are capable of mutt! How do you think I lost my eye? Hop scotch?”

“Ghost haunt a place they loved in life or the place where they died. Are you hiding this werewolf’s victims next to Myrtle's body?” Scrimgeour demanded. “How many dead kids have you-”

“I have NEVER killed anyone!” Lupin denied.

“How many did you bite?" Scrimgeour asked. "Hogwarts never reported any werewolf attacks - but it’s obvious you are good at hiding things - aren’t you headmaster Dumbledore?”

“I never turned anyone -”

“But you don’t deny biting -”

“ENOUGH!” Dumbledore boomed. “Gentlemen you are missing the forest by looking at only one tree!”

“What? Have you given the all the werewolves in the forest of Dean wands?” Moody asked sarcastically.

“No...but they all can control their shift - look up. The moon is risen and Remus is still a man. Still in control.”

To prove Albus Dumbledore's point Remus Lupin transformed into a hulking man wolf and back into a trembling sickly man. The change was slow and painful to watch - like a body mangling car accident happening in slow motion. When it was finished Lupin stood before them panting, trembling and smiling. "Ta." Pant. "Da!" he said weakly.

“By the Minotaur's bearded blue balls! Albus what have you done?” Moody asked panic stricken. "He walked in the ring! HE WALKED IN THE RING!"

It meant nothing to Remus, but suddenly Albus looked horrified. "No -" he said in a low voice.

“Damnit why didn’t you tell us sooner!” Rufus wanted to know. He pushed Moody's wand arm down. “Stop that Moody! You can’t send a patronus or apparate from inside activated standing stones! Come on.” Rufus and Moody started running for the edge of the field, Albus followed after them.

“Hurry Remus! There is not a moment to lose!” Albus urged.

“Wait! Where are you going? Why are you upset?” Lupin asked. “This is wonderful news! Werewolves don’t have to be locked up anymore -”

“They aren’t locked up now you fool!”

“I don’t understand?” 

“You - a werewolf - walked into an activated circle of standing stones! That’s not supposed to happen! These are supposed to keep out animals and near human animals. If you can walk in here then the werewolf pack living in the forest of Dean can escape!” Rufus said angrily.

“Now you know how he did it,” Moody said to Rufus. “It was Greyback just like I said - You should have let me kill him after the first child.”

“We had no proof back then -” Albus said.

“What are you talking about?” Lupin asked anxiously.

“Six children were turned in the last six months,” Albus said gravely. 

“Greyback was accused - attacking children and killing parents was his M.O. before he was caught - All but the born werewolves living in Dean were turned by Greyback. Even you Lupin.”

“Greyback is the werewolf who bit me?” Lupin asked shocked. He turned to Dumbledore,” why didn't you ever tell me?”

“I didn’t want the past to cloud your judgement -”

“You sent me as an emissary to the man who ruined my LIFE?!”

“- the containment wards were intact - but we should have guessed - why would an alpha trying to build a new pack abandon his pups? Because Greyback knew we would bring the kids to him!”

“Dumbledore spread the word through your people,” Scrimgeour ordered. He did not have to like Dumbledore to use him or his resources for the good of the Magical world. “Moody go to Hexam and warn -”

“Can’t. I’m not invited,” Moody panted. “I’ll go to the Ministry and roust the Aurors - you go to Hexam.”

“You weren’t invited?” Albus asked surprised. He had always through Moody refused to socialize, not that Moody was black listed. 

“I thought every pureblood Slytherin who knew at least one Prewett automatically got an invitation,” Lupin said sarcastically. 

“I knew Lady Fleda and Lady Lady Flavia,” Moody corrected. “Lady Lucretia is a Black. The Blacks ain't forgot I was the one to collar Sirius and Bellatrix...I cross the threshold of a Black House and the wards would set my soul on fire.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

A long time has passed since I last updated this fic. I apologize. It is not abandoned. I just have had some difficulty figuring out how to get from point N to point Q because points O, & P refused to be written. So...Let's skip them! 

Should Albus have realized Remus walking in a ring of standing stones means other werewolves could walk out of a ring of standing stones? Yes, but let's pretend this is a semi-plausible explanation. Remember this is the man who did not realize Quirrell was possessed by Tom Riddle so hopefully a little fallibility is believable.


	15. Chapter 15

While Lady Lucretia fluttered up and down the line of dignitaries, duelist and Prewetts about to enter the dining room as part of the grand procession, her husband Lord Ignatius and Minister Crouch Sr finished double checking the doctors' credentials.

When the identity was verified the physicians hired to treat the Stonehenge Dueling Festival’s fighters were dispatched en masse into the dining room to treat the Hexam Hall Wine Moon Ball guests injured in the Rush to get a chair.

The young doctors, eager to make a name for themselves among the wealthy and powerful, ran from person to person offering their services and handing out business cards.

More often than not they were politely, but firmly, rebuffed.

In a room full of wealthy people where everyone wore priceless jewels and expensive clothes influence, and exclusivity were the status symbols.

Unless they were grievously hurt the guest of Wine Moon Ball preferred to be seen by their trusted personal physicians or the celebrity doctors so they could boast to their friends later.

Rumor of Dr. Severus Black Prince’s confrontation with Master Damocles and his unpublished research rapidly circulated around the dining room making his medical services coveted among the scandalmongers.

Unfortunately for them, Severus neither wanted nor needed new clients.

Severus strode up the dining room heading straight for his seat at the high table.

Severus did his level best to scowl away every presumptuous person who approached his conversation companions Narcissa, Barthez and Horace.

Narcissa was slowing Severus down like dog pulling on the lead. She kept pausing to wave at to people she knew. Severus tugged her along determinedly.

Severus narrowed his black eyes threateningly at the matron waving her handkerchief to catch Narcissa’s attention. The grandmother flinched back as if slapped across the face.

“Severus that wasn’t very nice,” Narcissa admonished. “Aren’t princes supposed to be charming?”

“Not.. _.Black Princes_.”

“Severus, why are you walking so fast,” Barthez asked hurrying to keep up. “We are to be treating the injured ja? We are passing them by without a glance!”

“Do what you will Barthez. _I_ have no intention of dispensing medical care to night if I can avoid it. I am on _vacation_.”

“Aren’t you here as Regulus’ dueling doctor?” Barthez asked.

“There are few curses Regulus is likely to be hit with that I can not undo with one of the potions I have stored in my medical bag."

“In all my years of teaching, I have never encountered another student so gifted in potions.”

Horace Slughorn’s loud declaration had drawn unwanted attention.

Severus walked faster.

“And you have a gift for teaching,” Narcissa chimed in smiling impishly up at her old friend’s frowning face.

She was well aware of Severus’ opinions on the subject of teaching, but provoking him was half the fun.

Severus flustered with such beautiful ferocity, that Narcissa took every available opportunity to needle him.

“My son believes I posses a gift for reading storybooks aloud but I am not inclined to become a professional playtime entertainer either,” Severus replied coolly.

“You turned Lily Evans, Kurtis Mulciber, and Narcissa here into potions prodigies! You even got Remus and Regulus up to speed!” Master Slughorn went on building up steam.

“Quite a fete considering Remus and Regulus were beyond hopeless,” Narcissa concurred. "It should have been illegal for either of them to touch a cauldron."

"They were very, _very_ bad?" Barthez asked.

"I never knew it was possible to burn water until I began teaching them potions...They melted enough cauldrons to build a slag tower up to Avalon,” Severus remembered with a shudder. “It is a miracle no one was killed or crippled.”

“I wonder if Lupin still has your boot print on his bum? That was a spectacular drop kick,” Narcissa said grinning at Severus.

"He deserved it," Severus said darkly.

“Think what you could achieve as Potion’s Master of Hogwarts!” Slughorn gestured as if presenting Severus with a classroom full of eager students.

“Suicide by drowning in a deep pool of stupid?” Severus asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Severus!” Narcissa giggled, then hid her face in her friend’s shoulder so the room at large would not see her being undignified.

“Don’t dismiss it out of hand. Come try it on for size. Put your boy in the Hogsmeade Preparatory School. Teach part time for a semester. As an adjunct professor. We have a lot of empty laboratory space -”

“Master Slughorn, why would you of all people would want to lure anyone into the most thankless, underpaid profession known to humanity?”

“Teaching is a noble calling,” Slughorn insisted.

“Education is where people go when hell is full,” Severus countered.

He sneered two people limping toward them into changing direction.

“It is not so very bad Severus,” Dr. Bombard said without much conviction. “You have the entire summer all to yourself.”

Barthez’s first love was research, his second love was medicine. To Bombard, Beauxbaton Academy was simply a steady source of income, but as a man of principle he had to defend the profession that kept his family reliably fed.

“To consider returning to Hogwarts after barely escaping with my body and sanity intact I would need a _padded room in Bedlam all to myself_.”

“My daughter is getting married Severus,” Slughorn admitted. “She’s ready to settle down and start a family.”

Horace Slughorn accepted their congratulations and well wishes as his due, then pressed on with his request.

“Severus my boy, I’m getting up in years. Ready to retire. Our Slytherins need a strong advocate.”

“I will gladly sponsor a lawyer with a ferocious reputation to take up residence in the dungeons to mediate between the snakes, Hogwarts staff and the other students. That is the best I can offer.”

"Severus you are the best potion's master and doctor in the **_world,_** " Narcissa praised loudly enough for everyone within three meters to hear. "It is such a  _shame,_ more people don't know how  ** _wonderfully talented you are!"_**

" _Narcissa!_ "

"Yes Severus?" she answered sweetly.

"Hush."

In Society as in Slytherin House an aloof attitude, an aura of unquestioned authority and a mysterious air of intrigue were the main attributes necessary to attain popularity.

When Dr. Severus Black Prince swanned into formal dining room of Hexam Hall with the regal Lady Narcissa Malfoy - _in a pantsuit! Did you see?_ \- on his arm he drew the eyes of the all the gossips still titillated by Lucius’ and Regulus’ risque tango.

Dr. Barthez Bombard trailing a half step behind Severus carrying his medical bag like an eager house elf raised eyebrows among the well informed who knew Dr. Bombard to be a brilliant physician not given to fits of fanboy fervor.

However it was Master Horace Slughorn obsequious behavior that really turned heads. Slughorn was the most connected man in England. No one turned down a offer from Slughorn.

The Head of Slytherin house had put many young people on the path to a glorious destiny and sunk other’s careers into the dustbin.

Suddenly everyone was whispering out the side of their mouth.

Who **IS** that tall, dark man?

At a mostly empty table for fifteen near the head table, across the room far from the dining room doors, sat the Hitchens family: Lord and Lady Rokert Hitchens IV, their youngest son Hendrick, youngest child Blodwen, and their special guest: Ms. Cassiopeia Black.

The parents sat on either side of their shared mistress on one side of the table, the two children sat on the opposite side separated by several seats left empty for their relatives and other guest still walking around the room socializing before the meal started.

“That man? Black silk and black velvet -” Lady Rokert Hitchens IV asked Ms. Cassiopeia Black. “Do you know him?”

“Who?” Cassiopeia asked turning to look in the same direction.

“The tall dark doctor with Narcissa and Horace.”

“Looks familiar,” Cassiopeia said with a hum. “I can’t pin down his name. Whatever do you want with a _new_ doctor? Dr. Zhivago will be round presently. He knows we expect him.”

“I don’t think I can wait for Zhivago,” Lady Hitchens said with a grimace. “My hip is _killing_ me! Do you think I should call Narcissa’s doctor over?”

“You’ll have to chance it if you really can’t wait. Lord Hitchens, do you know him? That doctor in black with Narcissa? You know everybody worth knowing,” Ms. Cassiopeia gushed stroking down Lord Hitchen’s arm in an overly friendly way.

“Dottor Nero Principe,” Lord Rokert Hitchens IV said with a passable Italian accent.

“Client of the firm?” Ms. Cassiopeia asked with interest. As a professional gold digger, she was always on the lookout for new untapped mines.

“We transacted some business recently. Hopefully more is to come in future.”

“We are not feuding with Principe are we?” Lady Rokert asked anxiously. “He is not likely to poison me if I call for him? I really can’t wait for Zhivago. I think I’ve broken my hip.”

“Broken your hip? Nonsense,” Lord Hitchens said dismissively. He stood up and straightened his robes. He felt his wife was a hypochondriac and did not want to listen to her whine. “You didn’t fall that hard. I need to step out and put a bee into the Minister of Magic’s ear. Excuse me ladies. I'll get Dr. Principe if you don't feel well...later.”

“That man is useless!” Lady Hitchens fumed. Furious with her husband's disregard. “Here I am bleeding internally and like to die - and my husband must have a word the the Minister before he fetches Nero Principe!”

“Who is Nero Principe?” asked her daughter Blodwen across the table. She had to raise her voice to be heard.

“You know, Barone Nero Principe,” Hendrick Hitchens answered his little sister absently while inspecting his hair in the reflection his silver pocket watch. “You saw him last summer.”

“I saw a lot of Italians last summer. We were in Italy,” Blodwen said sarcastically.

“Marquis Gravoir’s little brother. The dishy one you danced - you were wearing my flouncy yellow dress. The one mother said made you look like casino showgirl. Nero was the boy who couldn’t keep his hands to himself.”

“Nero is here?!” Blodwen asked eagerly craning her neck to see if the subject of her summer crush had really appeared. “Where is he? I don’t see him! Oh!- Why did you have to hex him Renny?”

“He was kissing your boobs. Hexing boob kissers is one of my core roles as a older brother. It’s in the contract.”

“I wanted Nero to kiss my boobs!” Blodwen whined. “The boobs were made for Nero’s lips - he had such lovely lips -”

“Then you should have taken your boyfriend to a room with a locking door.”

“I hate you Renny! Nero’s probably avoiding me because of you!”

“Boo-fucking-hoo.”

“He looks nothing like Nero. Except the nose. All Principe have that roman hatchet,” observed Ms. Cassiopeia Black with authority. “Must be some cousin or other. The Principe family has a lot of cousins.”

Lady Hitchens looked at her son reproachfully. “The Principe family certainly has no problem marrying properly and producing children in a timely fashion. Perhaps you should follow their example. HENDRICK! Are you listening to me?”

“Sorry mother, what were you saying?” Hendrick asked, turning from his conversation with his little sister.

“Definitely a Principe jaw and brow. A strong profile worthy of a proud family,” Ms. Cassiopeia went on staring, but trying to to be obvious about it. “I know I know that face, but I don’t know where I’ve seen him before.” Ms. Cassiopeia said racking her memory. “Definitely a Principe, but not Barone Nero.”

“He’s not?” Blodwen said disappointed.

“That is Doctor Nero Principe!” Lord Hitchens IV insisted coming back. “Minister Fudge is deep in his cups. If I lit a match he’d burn to a cinder. How that man got elected I'll never know!”

"Did you get the doctor?" Lady Hitchens asked looking around.

"In a minute dear. First, let me tell you what I heard -"

“When did Nero become a doctor?” Hendrick asked curiously turning back to his relatives and rejoining the conversation after calling Ginger and Eustis Yaxley over.

“No, no, no. That is not Gravoir’s brother. That is Severus Black Prince. Dr. Severus Nero-Principe. Countessa Eileen’s son with that Snape person,” Lord Hitchens said exasperated. “Do pay attention Hendrick!”

“Severus Snape is here?!! Oh boy are we in for it tonight!”

“You know him? Personally?” Ms. Cassiopeia said leaning toward Hendrick with interest.

“He was a Slytherin. Years below me, but managed to graduate with my class. First student to pull down a perfect score on all his NEWTS since Mordred III. It was a tremendous scandal! Severus had low marks in all his classes except potions before his NEWTS.”

“That was the last year Abraxas was on the Hogwarts Board of Governors. He used Severus as an excuse to dismissed a third of the staff,” Ms. Cassiopeia said grinning at the memory. “Lucretia told me Abraxas walked in the door, said how do you do and started handing out pink slips. It was glorious.”

Leaning down between his wife, Lady Hitchens, and his lover Ms. Cassiopeia Black, Lord Hitchens said quietly,” Abraxas almost booted Dumbledore, but the old man threatened to expose Lucius as a marked Death Eater, to have Lucius locked away without trial in Azkaban like Augustus Rookwood.”

“Abraxas retired to France to save Lucius?” Ms. Cassiopeia asked surprised. “I wonder if Lucius knows?”

“Of course not,” Lord Hitchens said. “Discretion is Dumbledore’s weapon of choice. The Whispers only expired last month, or I would not mention it. Still. Play this close to the vest if you please. We don’t want that jolly double dealer looking our way.”

Across the table Blodwen asked her brother Hendrick. “Where you friends at school?”

“Darkness no! Severus Snape was mean as a hung over Monstrous Nightmare! We called him the Dungeon Dragon. Or Sissy-fuss. Sneer-at-us. He was so spiteful when the Gryffindors pranked him the teachers looked the other way.”

“Even Professor McGonagall?” Blodwen asked disbelieving, her eyes big.

“Even Headmaster Dumbledore,” Hendrick answered seriously. “Only Narcissa Black and Kurtis Mulciber could stand him. Professor Slughorn used Severus as a potion’s assistant, and a remedial tutor but Slughorn never invited Severus to any of his little Slug Club parties.”

“Look what you passed up throwing yourself at the lesser Le Strange brother!” Lady Hitchens scolded. “That could be you! - married into the Most Ancient and Royal House of Prince! A peer of the realm! We could have a doctor in the family! I could have a doctor here, NOW! But NO! You must sniff after a married man!”

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew Severus in his curse throwing, fire breathing, greasy haired glory. His personality was a forbidden curse. When Regulus Black started courting him everyone assumed it was one of Sirius's pranks. I still can’t believe they married.”

“That is the man little Regulus married?” said Cassiopeia speculatively. “ A Principe! Isn’t THAT interesting. I wonder why Walburga has such strong reservations against him?”

“If Regulus is a Black and Severus is a Snape - Shouldn’t he be called Dr. Black Snape not Black-Principe?” Blodwen asked.

“Snape is his father’s name. Prince was his mother’s. Marriage contracts predetermine the last name children carry, but Severus’ parents did not have a contract. He was free to drop Snape as soon as he became an adult,” Lord Hitchens clarified. “Which he did. Who wouldn’t? The Prince family is royal.”

“Aahh. Intelligent move on his part. What does anyone know of the Snape family anyway? Had you ever heard of them before one seduced the Contessa Eileen in that shameful manner?” Lady Hitchens groaned in agony. “Where is Zhivago? I’d kill for poppy milk!”

Ginger and Eustis Yaxley arrived at the table in time to hear the last statement. Seizing the opportunity to make herself important, the society reporter Ginger Yaxley announced to the table what she knew.

“The Snape family are Gypsies. Dream thieves. Shadow walkers. Carnival fortune tellers and bottom feeding magicians who sell lucky charms to muggles to ward off the evil eye. Dirt poor dirt,” Ginger Yaxley revealed.

She relished being the center of attention for once, rather than an attentive listener.

Ms Cassiopeia Black looked Ginger up and down with disdain. The Daily Prophet had published many unflattering stories about her family over the years. Cassiopeia was not the forgiving sort.

“Some of the Roma can name their ancestors back to Eje, shaman of Attila the Hun...I believe your antecedents are American as apple pie aren’t they Ginger Cobb?” Cassiopeia said coolly.

“My parents trace their descent through the Abbotts of Nidderdale Ms. Black,” Ginger replied stiffly.

“A very thin connection, I’m sure,” Ms Cassiopeia Black sniffed, “I know Delia Deetz-Abbot. She has _never_ mentioned _you_.” She then turned in her seat so her back was to Ginger and Eustis.

“Ginger became blood of my blood when she married me,” Eustis said forcefully. “My family keep the old ways.”

“Be sure to teach your wife, you wouldn’t want your children to grow up with thinking muggle-ish nonsense,” Lady Hitchens replied dismissively. “I think I’m dying -”

“Don’t carry on so,” Lord Hitchens admonished. “You’re making a scene.”

“Oh look, is that Lady Narcissa in a pantsuit? Isn’t she daring!” Hendrick said to diffuse the situation.

Hendrick waved the Yaxleys away, mouthing to Ginger that they would talk later behind his hand.

“Well. We Black women do have a certain flair,” Cassiopeia bragged.

“I heard Dr. Severus is a diabolical genius,” Blodwen said gleefully leaning forward eagerly. “He reeks of gold and secrets. He can make squibs magical and cure lycanthropy, and -”

“Oh _Blodwen_ -”

“He has a djinn in his signet ring he rubs and -”

“Who in the world have you been listening to?” Hendrick asked with raised eyebrows.

“You are a little too old to believe every fairy tale you hear, my girl,” Lord Rokert IV said gently. “A judge would deem your testimony inadmissible. You have no collaborative evidence.”

“But Papa, I heard it out of Hero’s own mouth! He is an expert witness! That’s his father!” Bowden said defending herself.

“Still hearsay,” Lord Rokert said shaking his head, but smiling at his youngest child fondly.

“Stop encouraging her!” Lady Hitchens said irritated with her husband and her youngest child.

“She’s my last hope to get a decent barrister out of our brood!” Lord Hitchens shot back. “Now that my heir has taken up with that American, and Hendrick fancies himself artistic - Blodwen is all I’ve got left! She’s the future of our firm!”

“Hendrick for pity’s sake go get Dr. Black Prince and bring him here! My hip - it must be broken - Blodwen be a good girl and run along make sure Hendrick hurries back. Don’t dawdle!”

“Mother perhaps you should wait for Dr. Zhivago -”

“Perhaps you should do as you’re told for once! Why are you sitting there like birds on a wire? Can’t you see I’m _dying_? Go!”

“Yes mummy.”

“Yes mother dear, right way mother dear.”

The two siblings got up from the table and walked side by side to intercept Severus, Narcissa, Horace and Barthez on their way to the head table.  
Hendrick muttered under his breath: “You want the sour dungeon demon? Let me just run fetch him - he normally goes for fresh virgin’s hearts, but you’ll have to do Blodwen.”

“I’m a virgin!... _technically_.”

“Listen up technical virgin. Severus is, Severus is,” Hendrick searched for a word but gave up. “Severus is hateful. More to the point Severus hates me. ALOT. So you are going to ask Narcissa to get Severus to help mummy and I am not going anywhere near him.”

“Mummy said we both had to go. Why should I let you wriggle out?”

“Because Severus might want to stab me and you, my loving little sister, want me to live?”

“If you die I get all your dresses; so make this worth my while Hendrick.”

“I’ll give you five dresses and a pair of boots.”

“Fifteen dresses. Plus coordinating shoes and accessories. AND I get to pick them myself.”

“Ten dresses, shoes but no accessories. Wait - **WAIT**! I know the Daily Prophet photographer working tonight,” Hendrick said quickly when Blodwen turned to walk away. “He can get your picture in the society pages. You’ll be the envy of the girl at Hogwarts till Yule. What do you say? Deal?”

“Deal...go find your photographer. He had better make my pictures look _damn_ good.”

“He will. He will. Romic Skeeter is the best at what he does.”


	16. Chapter 16

Margarita had not planned to be Rita Skeeter at the Wine Moon Ball. However since she had promised her editor/grandmother to unearth as many secrets of the reclusive Dr. Black Prince as she could Margarita had to let her inner devil ride vanguard.  
  
Margarita Mulciber emerged from the Hexam Hall floo chamber transformed into Rita Skeeter like a butterfly fresh from its cocoon.  
  
She descended the stairs into the Hexam Hall ballroom just after the doctors had departed. All the people standing in or near the procession turned to stare at Rita in silent disapproval because she was dressed like a blinking neon sign. Except her grandmother. Lady Helene Yaxley winked at Margarita.  
  
Rita Skeeter’s Marilyn Monroe curls were a helmet of blonde perfection. Her plum-cherry lips matched her three inch lacquered nails, eye enhancing mascara, cat’s eye glasses and the fluffy quick quotes quill feather and blank scroll floating just behind her head.  
  
Her long sleeve, fire engine red sequin covered sheath dress dragged on the floor, but was slit up one hip to the string of her lace thong. Her black patent leather gloves and the black stilettos that accentuated her long legs were so shiny they looked wet.  
  
Rita Skeeter blew kisses as she glided past them with her head held high; and sashayed into the dining room with a shit eating smirk.  
  
The Hexam Hall formal dining room was a pillared hexagon with a black lacquered floor reflective as a pond at night, walls hung with rich silvery blue velvet and a ceiling done up in the Prewett family crest.

At the far end of the room was the head table, and along the walls dozens of smaller round tables.  
  
On one side of the door was a champagne fountain with silver cups and a bar, on the other side a buffet of finger foods. In front of the doors a mass of people socialized, drank, snacked and had the doctors who had just entered the room treat the wounds they collected fighting for a chair.  
  
The people obliged to stand up during dinner parted like the biblical Red Sea as Rita approached and watched her warily as she passed. Rita greeted the people she had defamed and exposed in the papers warmly by name.  
  
Two people were so shocked at Rita Skeeter’s audacity - showing her face in society after publishing incendiary secrets in the Daily Prophet - they choked on their martini olives and had to be whacked on the back.  
  
The people fortunate enough to be seated at the tables covered white linen, crystal and silver along either wall pointedly turned away from Rita, but watched her furtively from the corners of their eyes.  
  
It amused Rita that these people were attempting to be dignified as if they had not just fought tooth and nail like starving savages over the last pork chop in civilization to win the privilege of sitting in a chair less than a quarter hour past.  
  
To Rita Skeeter hypocrisy smelled like roses.  
  
Her husband Romic wasted no time coming to her side. He wore his usual shadow like uniform: a large camera hanging from a strap around his neck, a pair of black slacks and black turtleneck.   
  
He glanced around the room then asked, “Rita did the _whole_ room just gave you the shifty side eye?”  
  
Romic Skeeter handed Rita a champagne flute filled with rose gold bubbly liquid.  
  
It was Rita Skeeters favorite drink. Champagne with a shot of tequila rose: a skeet shoot.  
  
“Seems I’ve annoyed these self appointed important people. Again.” Rita downed the drink in one swallow, shuddered through the burn and held her glass out. “Top me up, hubby.”  
  
Romic refilled Rita’s glass from his silver hip flask. “Perhaps if you stopped writing such truly _wicked_ -”  
  
“Emphasis on the _true_ -”  
  
“-things in the paper, you’d have more friends. Catch more flies with honey and all that rot.”  
  
“Who wants flies for friends? Flies like _shit_.”  
  
“Don’t disparage shit. It can’t help being a stinking mess after being masticated, digested, and squeezed out the back door.”  
  
“Only you would pity shit.” Rita kissed her husband’s cheek, leaving a garnish dark purple lip print on his cheek. “ _Honey_ you are the ultimate soft touch.”  
  
“Yes. Well. I’d like to avoid touching any one on your behalf tonight. If you don’t mind,” Romic said primly fiddling with the len of his camera. “Try not to provoke anyone. I don't want to break this camera on someone’s head.”  
  
“I start one tensy little bar fight -”  
  
“It was definitely a _riot_.”  
  
“And I never live it down.”  
  
“ _Rita_ -” Romic said warningly.  
  
“Look. I promise to be on my best behavior." Rita crossed her heart with one long fake finger nail. " _If_ you'll keep an eye on Miss Lucy Malfoy for me.”  
  
“Why? I’ve already got enough shots of Malfoy having fully clothed sex with his cousin in law to fill a glossy skin magazine. You want me to try to catch them actually fucking? We can't publish that!”  
  
“No,” Rita leaned in close, turning so her back was into the crowd she whispered barely moving her lips. “Malfoy has a cloak and dagger chat up set for directly after the ball. Trouble is, I don’t know who is invited or why.”  
  
“You want to know who Malfoy talks to?”  
  
“I want to know who avoids Malfoy like a leper, but watches him like a dragon with only one gold coin.  _That's_ who is in the know.”  
  
“I know that look. Rita don’t you go do something stupid for a story-”  
  
“Romic! Old buddy old pal!” A short slightly plump dapper man in white and grey pinstripe robes hailed Romic as he hurried over to the husband and wife. “Romic, I need a favor. You have got to put my little sister in the Daily Prophet’s published pictures of the Wine Moon Ball. _Please!_ ”  
  
“Hello Hendrick. Nice to see you,” Romic said dryly. “Have you met my near sister Rita?”  
  
That was the lie Romic and Margarita and Helene had concocted to explain the new reporter who seemed to have fallen from the sky. Romic Skeeter got Rita Skeeter a job at the Daily Prophet because they were cousins, and Margarita put up with Rita for Romic’s sake.  
  
“So this is the near-sister Maggie mentioned?” Hendrick asked with a raised an eyebrow looking between Romic and Rita. There was practically no family resemblance, except the snow white hair. Romic wore his hair long and neatly tied back just like Lucius Malfoy.  
  
“Yes. Rita Skeeter is my aunt Nadine’s daughter...with her seventh husband.”    
  
“Lucky number seven!” Rita said brightly. “Mum always did better with the odds than the evens.”  
  
“Rita this is Hendrick. He is one of Margarita’s oldest friends...so play nice. _Both_ of you,” Romic said in a warning voice.  
  
Hendrick looked Rita up and down frankly. “I think I own that dress.”  
  
“Great minds think alike,” Rita replied with a wink.  
  
“Indeed...Patent leather and sequin...real _classy_ ,” Hendrick said.  
  
Hendrick was friends with Ginger Yaxley and Margarita Mulciber. To him Rita Skeeter - weather or not she was related to Romic - was the cunt trying to steal Ginger’s job at the Daily Prophet.  
  
“Can I quote you Hendrick?”  
  
“Only if you want to be dragged into court by your hair Ms. Skeeter. I’m one of the _London Hitchens_. We are a family lawyers. Perhaps you’ve heard of us? We sue people for _fun._ ” Hendrick's smile was all teeth.  
  
“You’ll come around tough guy. Everybody needs friends in low places from time to time...I’ll catch up with you latter Romic; tell the wifey I’m here when you see her,” Rita said to her husband turning away.  
  
“Sure Rita. Don’t start any shite! The Prewetts own a lot of land and a lot of shovels. You hear me?”  
  
It was hard when her friends, her _best friend_ , treated her like a hostile stranger. But that was the price Margarita had to pay to play professional hard ball without giving up her personal life. Rita slithered through the throng back into the ballroom to see what she glean from the people standing around waiting for the procession to begin.  
  
As luck would have it; the first useful people Rita Skeeter found were Ms. Dolores Jane Umbridge on the arm of Mr. Arthur Weasley.  
  
A chance encounter brought Ms. Dolores Jane Umbridge into Rita Skeeter’s life.  
  
Years ago while shopping for eye melting clothes as her alter ego, Margarita had bumped into a frowzy little women digging in a bargain bin with a large blinking _Fudge for the Future!_ button  pinned to her shirt.  
  
Rita needed human interest filler for the profiles she was writing on the four candidates running for Ministry of Magic, so she decided to chat up one of the few Fudge supporters she had seen to find out what made the new comer an appealing candidate.  
  
As luck would have it, the dowdy women Rita happened to meet in the women’s department of Glad Rags was none other than Member of the Wizengamot Cornelius Fudge’s campaign manager: Ms. Dolores Jane Umbridge.  
  
For some truly bad fashion advice - _pink, Pink, **PINK!** Sweetheart, you own that **color!**_ \- Rita Skeeter got an all access pass to the Fudge political campaign.  
  
When the articles ran the day before the election even Rita was surprised that the public responded more favorably to the friendly, slightly bumbling MW Cornelius Fudge than the other three more qualified, more polished candidates.  
  
After Fudge was elected Minister of Magic the pudgy, prissy, cat obsessed Special Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic Rita Skeeter met by chance at a clothing store became her secret inside source at the Ministry of Magic.  
  
“Oh Rita! If I had known you were coming tonight we could have got matching outfits!”  
  
Margarita Mulciber almost sicked up imagining a Rita Skeeter-Jane Umbridge fashion collaboration.  
  
Margarita Mulciber swallowed bile. Rita Skeeter smiled big.  
  
“It was a last minute thing - if Ginger had got wind I was coming tonight she would have gone to the editor and blown her stack, but since I kind of slipped in - there is nothing she can do about it!”  
  
Ms. Umbridge giggled girlishly. “You are the bees knees Rita! Oh! Where are my manners...Rita Skeeter, reporter for the Daily Prophet - _my fashion fairy godmother and long time friend_ \- meet Mr. Arthur Weasley. Fellow career civil servant. My new friend.”  
  
Mr. Weasley smiled uncomfortably and as he shook Rita’s hand. “Ms. Skeeter I’m pleased to meet you, but I’m afraid Ms. Umbridge misrepresented me...I am one of the people who was furloughed due to the Ministry of Magic's budget constraints.”  
  
“That is a _shame_ ,” Rita Skeeter said sympathetically. “The Ministry of Magic has money to help sponsor an event like this,” she gestured to indicate the lavish ballroom, “this but not to keep hard working public servants at their post? How does that make you _feel_ Mr. Weasley?”  
  
“I, uh, flabbergasted. I did not know the Hexam Ball used public money. I though the foundation paid for everything.”  
  
“They do. They do. The Prewetts pay for the food, the venue, all the what not - _but_ the Ministry volunteers the Aurors' services _free of charge_ to act as security,” Ms. Umbridge told Arthur. "The public pays their salary to protect this private party. In fact, because this is a special event, they get time and a half."   
  
“Isn’t that a waste of money?” Arthur asked. "The Prewetts can clearly afford to hire their own security."

Rita laughed out loud.

 

A pure blood _peer_ would know all about the Ministry of Magic encroaching on pure blood tradition, because a _real pure blood peer_ would have heard their parents bitch and moan about it from the time they were in nappies till they moved out of the house.

Like Margarita had.

House Weasley was listed as pure-blood because they could prove double magical parentage going back ten generations but Arthur's branch of the family was definitely **NOCD**.

 _Not our kind dear_.

" _Honey_ the Aurors are not here to protect the ball guest from the public. They are here to _protect the public from the ball guest_."

"I don't understand?"  
  
“Before Dumbledore used his authority as Chief Warlock to send in the Aurors pure bloods who wished to woo a potential spouse would announce their intentions at the Wine Moon Ball, then by the light of the Hunter's Moon they would ride a Hippograff into the night, kill a bunch of dangerous creatures and present the carcass or skins in the morning to their intended," Ms. Umbridge explained.

"Why?"

"Proof they could provide for and protect a family," Rita replied. "Pure-bloods are a violent bunch of buggers. You notice most of the Death Eater's victims were muggle born or half blood, who learned DADA at Hogwarts. They never dared show themselves here at Hexam Hall or anyplace like it."

"Back then werewolf pelts was all the rage. I think Cygnus Black still holds the record for the most lunatics killed in one night. Now a'days with the LAW watching them the rich and inbred have to content themselves with dueling and dancing and drinking instead of skinning whole Lycan packs alive for fur coats and baby blankets," Dolores said nonchalantly.

“Well...that’s a good cause,” Arthur reasoned doubtfully. “Near-human animals need legal protection, just like everyone else...I guess.”  
  
“ _More_ than you need a _job_ that pays a decent wage?" Rita needled Arthur.

Arthur looked conflicted. Like he knew he ought to say saving a werewolf's life was more important than him having an income to provide for his family - but he did not believe it.

Rita quickly backtracked before Mr. Weasley dealt with his conflicting emotions by turning on _her_. As people often did.

"Never mind me Mr. Weasley. I’m always the little rain cloud at the garden party - that’s why no one ever invites me and I have to sneak in,” Rita said ruefully.  
  
“You’re invited to my birthday,” Dolores Umbridge told her enthusiastically. “I put your _handwritten_ invitation in the mail yesterday!”  
  
“ _Goody_! I can’t wait!” Rita said with forced good cheer.  
  
“It won’t be a big fancy to do. Just cupcake, and cats at my favorite tea shop,” Dolores promised.  
  
“Cupcake and … cats?” Arthur asked with the air of a man who really did not want to know but could not help but ask.  
  
“ _Loy’s Loose Leaf Emporium_ at Hobb’s Inn, a cozy little place in the Cotswolds - has _genuine_ perpetual kittens! Persians, Siamese, Russian blues, Scottish folds, and  _Norwegian Forrest cats,_ ” Dolores gushed.   
  
“You don’t say?” Rita feigning wide eyed fascination. “How did I not know that? Can just anyone handle the little darlings?”  
  
“For a fee, of course. It's really quite reasonable. Think of it: a fluffy kitten with the temperament of a well mannered lap cat! Worth every silver sickle. It’s my favorite way to while away a free afternoon. I’ve been saving all year to share my _favorite thing_ with my friends,” Dolores said earnestly.  
  
“Thank you Dolores. I’m _so honored_...and, and...touched!” Rita awkwardly.

This was another hazard of Margarita Mulciber's job: getting cozy with pathetic people.  
  
“Your birthday is going to be _loads_ more fun than this snooze fest,” Rita Skeeter prompted hoping Dolores Umbridge would tell her something good. “I haven’t seen anyone interesting or heard any good gossip... _how about you?_ ”  
  
“ _Rita_ you will never guess who Arthur and I met tonight,” Dolores said in a hushed voice leaning close.  
  
“Well - Don’t keep me in suspense! Who did you see?”  
  
“Dr. Severus. Nero. Principe. **THE** Dr. Severus Black Prince.”


End file.
